^L6t\ 



7 



VOICES OF THE WIND, 



OTHER POEMS. 




THE 




OICES OF THE WIND, 



OTHER POEMS. 



4? 



P. FISHE REED, 



CHICAGO: 

E. B. MYERS AND CHANDLER, 

S7, Washington Street. 

1S6S. 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S6S, by 

P. FISHE REED, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Northern District of Illinois. 



5Z 
12 



CAMBRIDGE ! 

KESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON. 



FITZ HUGH LUDLOW, 

BECAUSE HIS HEART IS BRIMMING WITH THE LOVE OF 

ALL THINGS LOVABLE, AND WITH CHARITY 

FOR ALL THAT ARE NOT, 

&\)is tribute 

IS OFFERED BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Voices of the Wind 9 

Okkis-Tun : an Indian Legend 19 

Wachuset : a Story 43 

The Song of Life 85 

Pictures in the Sky .- 105 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

Dream-World 119 

The Moonlight Serenade i-S 

Autumn's Lesson 13 2 

Idylia 139 

Cambahee 14 2 

The Tear-Spirit H5 

Four Degrees of Love 14S 

The Poet-Zone 150 



8 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Gloom and Bloom 153 

Dais 7 155 

Narcissus and Photography 158 

Myrene 161 

Summer Morning 163 



SONGS. 

Music of the Drum 169 

The Old School-House 172 

The Spirit Bride 177 

Love's Symbols 1S0 

Emblems of Liberty 1S3 

The Temple of Beauty 186 

Linden Bowers 189 

The Picture that hangs on the Wall 192 

The June and the Moon 195 

Tempus Fugit 197 




VOICES OF THE WIND. 




VOICES OF THE WIND. 




S2£^ ROM out the Boreal circle, from the valley of the 
dew, 
?& From the clouds of sapphire glory in the empy- 
rean blue, 
Cometh the gentle zephyr-wind upswelling from the plain, 
Low humming, with its odorous breath, the summer's 

sweet refrain. 
It is coming with a lightsome step among the smiling 

flowers, 
Softly weaving song and beauty into all the glowing hours ; 
It dallies with the daisy, as it feeds upon the light, 



12 VOICES OF THE WIND. 

And pets the peerless pansy through the silence of the 
night ; 

It creeps upon the water-cress that nods beneath the hill, 

And trails its yellow tresses in the ripples of the rill ; 

It sleeps upon the pensive plain, where broods the turtle- 
dove, — 

Where the rose and lily listen to the wild-bee's hum of 
love ; 

It wanders over all the land, and dimples all the sea, 

And tips the lip of the loving one, and brings the kiss to 
me. 

O wooing Wind, O winsome Wind, blow softly o'er the 
sea, 

And hasten the ship of the loving one that's coming home 
to me ! 

In waving undulations, now, it skims the waters o'er, 
And broods upon the diamond sand that sparkles on the 
shore ; 



VOICES OF THE WIND. 13 

Its breathes its fervent melody through all the living air, 
And fans the cheek of beauty that is present everywhere ; 
It fans alike the high and low, the peasant and the peer, 
And hums the hymn of Liberty to every listening ear ; 
And all the living things of earth reach up their lips of love, 
To kiss the wooing zephyr-wind that gently floats above ; 
And love and life are mated, under all the azure sky, 
As they listen to the music of the zephyr's lullaby, — 
To the wily, wooing, winsome Wind that wanders every way, 
So softly sighing with the soul through all the summer day ; 
The gentle Wind, that wafts the stately ship upon the main, 
That is freighted with the loving one that's coming home 

again. 
O wily Wind, O winsome Wind, blow kindly o'er the sea, 
And waft the ship of the loving one that's coming home to 

me ! 

Oh, listen to the Borean breeze that sweeps across the 
plain ! 



14 VOICES OF THE WIND. 

It is drinking up the zephyrs as the ocean drinks the rain ; 
It is coming with a fuller tone, that swells upon the air, 
Like a million mingled voices that are whispering of de- 
spair ; 
And the troubled clouds are gathering, at the tempest-king's 

command, 
While strange and fearful shadows weirdly skim across the 

land ; 
It revels in the lily-beds, where erst the zephyr slept, 
And scatters into silver spray the dews the night hath wept ; 
And to and fro the roses sway, and, through the solemn dell, 
It rudely rocks, in wanton way, the tiny lily-bell ; 
It hails the bending forest, and the creaking trees reply, 
While the pallid leaves are whispering their terrors to the 

sky ; 
It swells the yielding canvas that so proudly spans the main, 
And gloats upon the loving one that's coming home again. 
O weary Wind, O dreary Wind, blow lightly o'er the sea, 
And peril not the loving one that's coming home to me ! 



VOICES OF THE WIND. 15 

Oh, listen to the wailing Wind, that fills the panting air 
With furious diapason tones that tell of wild despair ! 
It is coming, with a sturdy step, across the pallid plain ; 
It is breaking, into troubled waves, the broad and swelling 

main ; 
It is bearing on its bosom that ominous refrain 
Of the rumbling, roaring harbinger that goes before the 

rain. 
The traveller looks askant the sky, and reads the tale of 

woe ; 
The startled herds upon the hills rush wildly to and fro ; 
The stately storm is marching on with force and fury rife ; 
The elements are marshalling their cohorts for the strife, 
And the lashing, leaping lightning comes flashing through 

the gloom, 
While the closing of the darkness has the terror of the tomb. 
O furious Wind, leave ye the sea, and rend the trembling 

shore, 
And give to me the kiss of death, but touch his lip no more ! 



l6 VOICES OF THE WIND. 

wanton Wind, O wailing Wind, save ye the swelling sea, 
And spare, oh spare, the loving one that's coming home to 
me ! 

Oh ! listen to the whirling Wind, that comes with battle- 
cry, 

And scatters all the temples that are tottering in the sky ; 

The Borean bells are pealing over forest, hill, and dell, 

And all the clamorous elements with furious anger swell ; 

The yielding waves are yawning over all the surging sea. 

O God, protect the loving one that's coming home to me ! 

High and higher swells the tumult, and the frantic heavens 
choke 

With the whirling and the swirling of the tempest-riven 
oak. 

Oh, the clamor and the clangor of the quivering, shivering 
gale, 

That is roaring, rushing, crushing, screaming, over hill and 
dale! 



VOICES OF THE WIND. 17 

Oh, the thunder's rueful rattle ! oh, the clang and crash and 

roar 
Of the breakers, as they break and die, and feed the hungry 

shore ! 
There's a shivered ship a-sinking, there's a hissing of the 

spray, 
While, down below, the yawning deep is yearning for its 

prey! 

rushing Wind, O crushing Wind, break not the shivering 

sea ! 

1 cannot lose the loving one that's coming home to me. 

Hark, what a shriek of sorrow ! It is out upon the wave. 

'Tis the fearful voice of agony uprising from the grave ! 

It is the prayer of the loving one who beats the foam in 

vain ! 
O God, protect ! O wave, beware ! O cruel storm, abstain ! 
Bring not upon my sorrowing soul a dark and nameless 

pain ; 



iS VOICES OF THE WIND. 

Bring not on thee, O murderous Wind, the cruel curse of 

Cain ; 
Wreck nature into chaos, but for this bosom keep 
That one, of all the living dead, out-tossing on the deep ! 
Oh, spare my love, and spare this heart, that's surging like 

the rain ! 
And will that bosom never, never throb with mine again? 
And must the star of hope go out, that erst was over-kind, 
When we so fondly breathed our plight upon the zephyr- 
wind? 
The watching waves, with hungry strife, dart up their 

tongues of doom, 
While Death is grimly peering from the lightning-lighted 

gloom ! 
O rushing Wind, O crushing Wind, break up the crumbling 

sea ! 
For God has saved the loving one that comes no more to 

me. 



OKKIS-TUN 



AN INDIAN LEGEND. 




OKKIS-TUN.^ 




N Huron's mystic banks, in sombre shade, 

When winter's twilight glanced upon the snow, 
Three jovial hunters had their watchfire made, 
And, gathering round its warm and ruddy glow, 
Enjoyed that comfort hunters only know : 
With jest and song, and with the good canteen 
Which then was pleasure's boon and honor's show, 
They wove their glee, the social hours between, 
Nor recked if underneath the storm or starry sheen. 



* Fire-spirit. 



22 OKKIS-TUN. 

There is a glory in the hardihood 
Of those old frontier-hunters who could tread, 
With fearless step, the forest's solitude, 
Despite its dangers, and with free-will wed 
Its gloom for worse or better. The nuptial bed 
New softness got with longer use, and dear 
The dell where bear and bounding buck had fled ; 
And some fond memories linger round the rear 
Of the last century, and its most bloody sphere. 

The hunters pile the wood until the blaze 
Is flashing in the restless eyes that prowl, 
In sentry circles, in the purple haze, 
Whence comes the sneaking wolf's discordant howl. 
And the more bashful panther's modest growl ; 
While answers, from the height of some huge tree, 
The hollow hootings of the moody owl. 
They chime a tuneless chorus to the glee 
Of the undaunted hunters in their revelry. 



OKKIS-TUN. 23 

The senior of the party was quite hoary ; 
His limping limbs, and scarred head, front and rear, 
(For he had seen somewhat of frontier glory,) 
Bore the sad relics of a former year, — 
The pay and pension of the pioneer ; 
And while the camp-fire lights the forest gloom, 
And while the hunters sip the forest cheer, 
They press the worthy veteran to resume 
The bloody chronicles of Huron's day and doom. 

Answered the old man, while a careless sigh 
Escaped his bosom : From Superior's shore 
To where the Alleghanies climb the sky, 
I've seen somewhat of savage life (before 
Civilization, with her sacred lore, 
Diffused refinement through the forest gloom), 
And in barbarian orgies joined the roar 
To save me from a quite unpleasant doom, 
And for a more refined procession to the tomb. 



24 OKKIS-TUN. 

'Twas said, that, many hundred moons ago, — 
Exactly when, tradition does not name, 
But ere the Indian faced the pale-faced foe, — 
The great Tun-Okkis, with a breath of flame, 
Destroyed alike the Huron and his game. 
Their valiant warriors and their boldest braves ; 
Their chiefs, who boast such prowess, strength, and fame, 
Whose vanquished foes would fill a thousand graves, — 
All flee before his wrath, while the whole nation raves. 

Though wily arts and mighty arms they brought, 
Besides some sacrifices to the moon, 
Yet strength and stratagem availed them nought : 
Soon as his thunder-voice was heard, so soon 
Each victim sunk to earth, as in a swoon, — 
A swoon of direful length — for to be brief, 
Whene'er that voice was heard, at night or noon, 
Whether the forest game or forest chief, 
His heart's blood did outpour to dye the forest leaf. 



OKKIS-TUN. 25 

Thus days passed on ; the moons did wax and wane 
And smile, although the sight was so absurd, 
Of Huron's pest and his uncounted slain. 
At last, in solemn conclave, council heard 
The brave ones of the nation, who averred 
Their willingness to quench this fatal Fire, 
That had their nation's bravery so slurred : 
It was their heart's most obstinate desire 
To hurl him in the lake, but dreaded most his ire. 

It has been told in story, sung in song, 
Of the fierce courage of the savage race : 
To poets only does the word belong ; 
For never beastlier coward, or more base, 
Did hurl the dart of death with meaner grace 
From skulking ambush, than these imps of hell. 
True valor meets the danger face to face. 
Courage ! their traitorous souls did never swell 
With flush of magnanimity, I know full well. 

2 



26 OKKIS-TUN. 

An aged hero, chief of Huron's nation, 
With solemn voice then uttered his command : 
Which heard, the braves leaped up in wild elation, 
And scampered, screaming, over lake and land 
With such outrageous roar that the firm hand 
Of every foeman grasped his bow and blade 
And burst away ; new fire his fury fanned ; 
And ere the echo's answering voice was stayed, 
Each summoned brave the old chief's mandate had obeyed. 

I've heard that yell, joined in its chorus too ; 
For to their hate it was the antidote : 
Yet my frail voice was but the kitten's mew, 
When heard the din of the infernal notes 
Of clamor bursting from their savage throats. 
One night a cat, with wounds all furious grown, 
With little ceremony and the votes 
Of all, upon my naked back was thrown, 
That I might better give the horrid war-whoop's tone. 



OKKIS-TUN. 27 

In truth, I roared, — as well, indeed, I might — 
Though many scars had made my back quite tough ; 
Yet, when I felt that woful scratch and bite, 
I own that one such lesson was enough 
To learn, at least, the war-whoop's gamut rough ; 
But long years after, when I did firmer plod 
Along this lake and underneath its bluff, 
Their heart's blood bubbled where the turf we trod, — 
Oh, then I snuffed sweet vengeance from the steaming sod ! 

Revenge is sweet, and 'tis a sweet revenge 
To gloat upon the prime aggressor's gore. 
Be this denied, 'tis pleasant to unhinge 
The spirit from the body of a score 
Or two of his own ilk ; nor keep in store 
The pangs that prompt us to avenge a wrong ; 
For thorns within the heart will keep it sore, 
And human passions, eke, are wondrous strong, 
And will demand the rights which to our wills belong. 



28 OKKIS-TUN. 

For those who draw from brute heart its life-blood, 
Sate their own hearts with its familiarity, 
Until at last, as sterner grows their mood, 
The play of human blood is no great rarity. 
In truth, we pioneers deemed it a charity, 
Did we the red man's redder life outdrain : 
To spill barbarian blood is no barbarity, 
Since it would float him to a better plain, 
And save his sturdy limbs from slavery's galling chain. 

And he is not ignoble who would rather 
Spill his life-blood in inglorious fight, 
Than let it creep for tyrants, who would gather 
Wealth and ease by others' toil. No blight 
Of bondage blots his race. The right of might — 
That self-same power that prompts each Indian soul 
To be himself, and not another — will smite 
The foe, and of his heart take ample toll 
For right of way through realms his arms may not control. 



OKKIS-TUN. 29 

I said the warriors met : and, at the spot, 
There towered above them, like a statue vast, 
The great Yandochis, chief of Wyandotte, 
Whose furrowed brow was darkly overcast 
With anxious care, and told the day was past 
When he could wield the war-club ; yet could sway 
The entire nation with^his guttural blast 
Of eloquence, and teach them how to slay 
The warrior and pappoose, and bear their scalps away. , 

" O braves and brothers ! 'tis for you to know 
The sacred warnings of the mystic trance, 
When Areskoui * lifts the veil to show 
The blazing beauty of his countenance^. 
Yandochis answered to the Burning Glance : 
Claimed is unblemished chief, whose life is waning ; 
A thousand hearts his battle-axe and lance 
Have hushed, who boasts a hundred battles' gaining, 
And on his wigwam walls thrice threescore scalps remaining. 

* The Great Spirit. 



30 OKKIS-TUN. 

" And there must be a virgin of his name, 
Whose spotless heart is pure as is the light 
Of holy Heaven. The twain this Spirit Flame, 
In the mid-hour of a moonless night, 
Must quench in this dark water. From the height 
That overhangs the lake's most northern shore, 
His burning carcass must be hurled. If right 
The deed be done, dwells Yandot,* as of yore, 
Upon this soil ; else drinks the thirsty sand our gore." 

Yandochis moved not from his post-like posture, 
But the keen glances of his eye round shot 
Upon the tribe that he was wont to foster, 
And, lo ! each |jp was curled, each heart was hot, 
Each muscle strained with vengeance ; yet was not 
One warrior soul that dared the Okkis' ire, 
Although they feared no earthly arm one jot ; 
And thus they spoke : " To quell this foe of Fire, 
The nation hath no twain that answereth Heaven's desire.' 

* The ancient name of the Wyandotte. 



OKKIS-TUN. 31 

" Behold thy chief! " Yandochis cried : " how vain 
The hope of glory to his heart must be ! 
His wigwam shows the relics of the slain ; 
And his own daughter, bright Alankane, 
The star-eyed maiden, child of purity, 
At whose strange birth the twinkling stars down came, 
To bless and fit her for her destiny, — 
The Yandot princess falters not to aim 
The daring death-blow at this shrieking Spirit Flame." 

A brave then rushed the wondering warriors by, 
And placed himself his mighty chief beside. 
Vengeance was leaping from his restless eye, 
And, with a voice of thunder, thus he cried : 
" Alankane is pledged to be the bride 
Of one who never plights his word in vain : 
No Yandot warrior's claim must be denied. 
Let her in peace in chieftain's care remain, 
Till her Wenara hath this flaming Okkis slain." 



32 OKKIS-TUN. 

The chief was silent ; yet his stoic soul 
Scarce brooked this insult to his faith, in gleams 
Of light direct from Heaven. Such words made roll 
His eyes in frantic glances ; for his dreams 
Were sacred to his soul as are the beams 
Of daylight to the daisy. Dark suspicion 
Leaps out from every look, volcanic streams 
Upheave his quaking heart, at the derision ; 
Then wildly burst the words, and this is his decision : — 

" Yandochis' child, whose heart his blood doth fill, 
Embodiment of Heaven's love, — shall she 
E'er fail to do great Areskoui's will? 
'Tis his command : Alankane's must be 
The maiden arm that sets our nation free. 
Bring forth the sacrifice : let Yandots show, 
In gory battle or in worship's glee, 
That they their duty do, as well as know, 
And never recreant prove when forward rush the foe." 



OKKIS-TUN. 33 

Yandochis' word was law ; and, peace restored, 
A dog was placed the veteran chief beside, 
Who gloated on the offering all adored. 
With string of bark his mouth was firmly tied, 
Then passed through flame until his reeking hide, 
From drooping tail to fiercely snarling snout, 
Was hairless as an eel. Thus deified, 
Was placed upon a pole, while warriors shout, 
And chant their sonorous song, his blackened form about. 

SONG OF THE SACRIFICE. 



Death to Tun-Okkis, 

The thunder-tongued foe, 
Who bringeth Yandochis 

The flame of his woe ! 

And now shall arise 
The smoke and the savor, 
And we shall find favor 

In the sacrifice. 

Dance to the doom ! 
The yellow sun leers at the gloom, 



34 OKKIS-TUN. 

The hazy moon measures the blue, 
And the stars are true. 
Wa-ho-no-win ! * Unk-ta-hee,t 
Hear our song, and set us free. 



From the heights of the mountain, 

From the lake and the wood, 
By the tremulous fountain, 

Where the wood-pigeons brood, 
The wail of the warrior, 
The moan of the maiden, 
On the breath of Kee-way-din, X 
Is laden with sorrow. 
Dance to the doom ! 
The yellow sun leers at the gloom, 
The hazy moon measures the blue, 
And the stars are true. 
Wa-ho-no-win ! Unk-ta-hee, 
Hear our song, and set us free. 



The bright eyes glisten, 
That shall set us free, 

* An exclamation of sorrow. t The god of battle. 

X The north wind. 



OKKIS-TUN. 35 



Like the stars, when they listen 
To Alankane. 
The smoke and the flame 
The wild dog is breathing, 
Up-curling, upwreathing, 
Is Manitou's name. 
Dance to the doom ! 
The yellow sun leers at the gloom, 
The hazy moon measures the blue, 
And the stars are true. 
Wa-ho-no-win ! Unk-ta-hee, 
Hear our song, and set us free. 

IV. 

Fair one of Yandochis, 

Thy spirit is strong, 
And thine arm, from Tun-Okkis, 
Will free us ere long. 
Be snake-like thy tread, 
And banish thy sorrow, 
And the dawn of the morrow 
May break on the dead. 
Dance to the doom ! 
The yellow sun leers at the gloom, 
The hazy moon measures the blue, 
And the stars are true. 



36 OKKIS-TUN. 

Wa-ho-no-win ! Unk-ta-hee, 
Hear our song, and set us free. 



In the deepest recesses 
Of the surging lake, 
Where the tortoise caresses 
The slimy snake, 
Through the sprayey foam, 
Hurl this foe of the forest. 
When our need is the sorest, 
Avenge our home ! 
Dance to the doom ! 
The yellow sun leers at the gloom, 
The hazy moon measures the blue, 
And the stars are true. 
Wa-ho-no-win ! Unk-ta-hee, 
Hear our song, and set us free. 



Then death to Tun-Okkis, 
The thunder-tongued foe, 

Who bringeth Yandochis 
The flame of his woe ! 



OKKIS-TUN. 

And now shall arise 
The smoke and the savor, 
And we shall find favor 
In the sacrifice. 

Dance to the doom ! 

The yellow sun leers at the gloom, 

The hazy moon measures the blue, 

And the stars are true. 

Wa-ho-no-win ! Unk-ta-hee, 

Hear our song, and set us free. 



O Superstition, thou round-eyed foster-mother 
Of horrors all too horrid to be spoken ! 
Oh that some mighty power thy curse could smother, 
As thou hast smothered souls, and basely broken 
The bonds of human peace ! I pray unwoken 
May be thy sleep, if thou shouldst sleep ; yet never 
Has prophecy once dared to give a token 
Of such blest time. No Archimedean lever 
Can lift the deep, dead weight that bears us down for ever. 



2>S OKKIS-TUN. 

The wild and sacrificial song is o'er, 
And frantic merriment begins to flow, 
Where headstrong vengeance ruled the hour before ; 
The moaning dog is freely eaten now, — 
An emblem of the mercy Yandots show. 
Such rites as these are not the right of way 
To realms of modern Hurons' Manitou ; 
But when Algonquins held despotic sway, 
In savage might, o'er tribes that since have passed away. 

If Yandots' statutes had such horrid modes, 
As by their vague tradition is related 
In legends wild, they're banished from the codes 
Of modern Hurons, who — though wisely hated. 
For their blood-loving souls are never sated — 
Are pinks of patterns to all brutal breeds 
Who meet them life for life. So some have prated ; 
Yet, in good sooth, the fabled demon's deeds 
Of horror well befit these fiends whom Fury feeds ! 



OKKIS-TUN. 39 

When moody midnight spread her dusky pinions, 
In solemn silence over lake and fell, 
The self-doomed martyrs, Heaven's holy minions, 
Had reached, with stealthy step, the demon dell 
Where slept this pest of Huron in his cell. 
With wieldy war-club, Yandot's hoary sire, 
With hot heart-throbs, which he disdained to quell, 
Approached with awe the couch of sleeping Fire, 
To wreak upon his head the injured nation's ire. 

A maiden arm arrests the fearful blow ; 
For they must follow Heaven's just decree, 
And she must deal the death to Yandot's foe. 
For this bright star-child, fair Alankane, 
Drew from the heart its life-blood, just as free 
As love throbs from her lovers, when there shone 
The Cupid daggers in her midnight e'e. 
In one hot, gory gush, one guttural groan, 
The modest might of that mild maiden arm was shown. 



4 o 



OKKIS-TUN. 



Let poets prate about the beauteous squaw, 
Her magnanimity and proud pomposity, 
Her soul-lit eyes and chiselled lips, and draw 
Delightful pictures of this mad monstrosity ; 
Yet if a nose out-bulged with animosity, 
And eye that gloats on torture, blood, and death, 
And mouth whose breadth could munch your corporosity 
With savage greed, be types of beauty, faith ! 
They're welcome on such brutal belles to waste their breath. 

There is no beauty in a wicked thing ; 
There is no beauty in a selfish feature ; 
And all such hideous symbols can but bring 
Disgust to every honest heart. No creature, 
If born of brute or human, holds his nature 
In borrowed forms ; but like from like is true 
Of soul and body, as it is of each or 
All the things with which the zones may strew 
The earth : the Indian's soul and skin's alike in hue. 



OKKIS-TUN. 41 

No more the weird Tun-Okkis cursed the dell ; 
But the blue bosom of the lake did bound 
With rapid throbs, when there upon it fell 
The victim and the victors. All were drowned ; 
For of this trio, never one was found. 
But some moons after, so tradition saith, 
When Hurons dared to tread the tragic ground, 
They buried sundry implements of death, 
Like those by which some thousands since have lost their 
breath. 




WACHUSET 



A STORY. 



r 



WACHUSET. 



PART FIRST. 



sk£^) OLUS slumbers in his mystic cell ; 




!$* The Borean breezes rest awhile from duty ; 
The venturous zephyrs wander from the dell, 
To toy with Flora where she sits in beauty ; 
The landscape lies abloom. In fresh perfume 
The glad hours woo and wonder all the day ; 
With busy fingers, in their mystic loom, 
They weave the gorgeous garlands for the rosy-favored May. 



46 WACHUSET. 

Above the rivers, above the rills, 

Above the slopes of the wooded hills 

Whose green waves roll with a ceaseless sigh ; 

Where the bald cliffs cleave the tender sky, 

And the gray-grown rocks like sentinels stand 

Over the belts of the busy land, 

While rigid and cold and stern, they view 

Alike the storm and the summer blue, 

I stood ; and gazing down the vale, 

Listened to the simple tale 

That now I tell. 

'Twas summer-time, 
When all the days are full of rhyme, 
When zephyrs fan the forest bowers, — 
The choral halls of plumed throats, — 
When the humbird kisses the flushing flowers 
With giddy delight, and the nectar sips 
From their voluptuous, pouting lips ; 



WACHUSET. 47 

When all the voices of the hours 

Are tuned to music notes ; 
And along those vales that slanting lie 
Under the sheen of the summer sky, 
Embroidered with beauty everywhere, 
And drinking light from the amorous air, 
The violet and the purple bell, 
The clover blooms and daisies rare, « 

Internestling in the light, 
Pant, as their odorous bosoms swell 
With silent delight, like those who tell 

Their loves in the silent night. 

And these are the days of love and bloom, 
The halcyon time of flushing youth, 
Who never dream of the winter's gloom, — 
Who never dream, kind Heaven's ruth, 
Of the visionless sorrows, that one by one 
Canker the heart as life goes on ; 



4S WACHUSET. 

But blithesome through the summer way, 
Will youth and pleasure meet and play ; 
And the spirits of light and gentle love, 
Whose home is the palpitating air, — 
The invisible world about and above, — 
Watchfully ward from the youthful heart 
The evil wicked ones impart ; 
► But the kelpies who love the lonesome ways, 

And gloat on sorrow's gathering haze, 
Hide from the flowery summer's bloom, 
And revel in the mountain gloom. 

A noble youth lived in the vale 

Under the frowning mountain, 
And his soul was as grand as the towering cliff, 

And as pure as its crystal fountain ; 
And a maiden there was who loved this youth, 

And the youth he loved the maiden, 
And they flushed and thrilled, yet never knew, 
As on the busy moments flew, 



WACHUSET. 49 

That each with the other's love was laden ; 
And the voice of their lives went to and fro, 
Whispering melodies soft and low, 
But never a syllable more than this, 
Uttered the lovers of this sweet bliss. 

They climbed among the clefted rocks 

Where the honeysuckles climb, 
And tenderly crowned each other's brows 

With the wreaths of summer-time ; 
They plucked wild flowers from the sylvan bowers, 
And sheltered themselves from the thunder-showers 

In the caves of the mountain-side, 
And dreamed the fabulous legends o'er 
Of the barbarous savage's mythical lore 

When the warrior was in his pride. 

The laughing water-brook that leaps, 
In gleeful pranks, 



50 WACHUSET. 

Adown the mountain's broken steeps 

And mossy banks, 
They chased along the cedar maze, 

Listening to its tinkling lays, 
While their hearts' syllables kept time 
To its tintinnabulary rhyme ; 
For like the brook the heart will dream 
Till lost in life's maturer stream. 
Over the meadows, along the rills, 
Or under the rifts of the rocky hills, 
Or on the lagoons where the lilies lay, 
Wherever his footsteps led the way, 
She followed him, with never a thought 
But of the pleasure the present brought : 
Their life was a day with no cloud above, 
Each day a life of the purest love. 

Thus hand in hand they walked together 
Through all the bloom of the summer weather ; 



WACHUSET. 51 

And as the odor fills the sense, 

Love filled their hearts with his influence ; 

And they followed their lives with a brook-like dream, 

Through many a winding way, 
As joyous as the mountain bird 

The livelong day ; 
Nor ever there came an evil sprite, 
Nor malignant being that haunts the night, 

To whisper a wicked thing ; 
For their souls were as pure as the ether light 

In all their wandering. 

And a joyous band of spirits bright, 

Linked hand in hand together, 
Followed the lovers here and there, 
Followed them faithfully everywhere, 

Through fair and stormy weather ; 
Like guardian spirits, they watch and pray 
Over their innocence night and day ; 



52 WACHUSET. 

While the light-winged zephyrs, with anxious care, 
Tenderly sprinkle the happy pair 
With incense. Oh ! the days were fair ; 
For the odorous brow of the summer queen 
Was pranked with beauty, and everywhere 
Her jewelled blooms and garb of green 

Swelled up in the violet air ; 
And from early morn till dewy eve, 

To the beat of their bosom's rhyme, 
This web of love the lovers weave 

With never a thought of time. 

He was to her as the golden day 

To the flushing flowers, 
Filling her life with a summer way 

Through all the glowing hours, — 
Filling her soul with the thrill of life, 

As* grandeur fills the throne ; 
He was to her another world, 

Its glory all her own : 



WACHUSET. 53 

And she to him as the rippling sea 

To the starry sky above, 
Holding his tremulous beauty there 

In the depths of her placid love ; 
For as the heavens their glory bloom 

Within the crystal tide, 
So he in her : he was her heaven, 

And she his mirrored bride. 

So they sang together the song of life, — 

The youth and this matchless maiden ; 
And they murmured the music of innocent love, 
Till the very air about and above 

With the odor of love was laden. 

Oh ! is there above this transient night, 

At the going-down of time, 
A dawn of life for longing souls 

In another youthful clime, 
Where youth and innocence dwell, as here, 
In the summer of Love, where the skies are clear? 



54 WACHUSET. 



PART SECOND. 



r I ^HE Borean bell has tolled the lowly vespers 
Of the pent-up winds, who pensive grieve 
In mournful sweetness, while their smothered whispers 

Are so softly breathed to summer eve ; 
For whirlwinds, big with power, await the hour 

When they shall burst their mountain bands asunder. 
And ravish Beauty in her blooming bower, 
And howl her dirge o'er hill and dale in tones of mighty 
thunder. 



The red-lipped summer has ceased to smile, 
The birds have forgotten their song, 

The skeleton forest is bloomless, while 
The north wind cometh along 



WACIIUSET. 55 

Hoary and chill, o'er hill and copse, 

Like the demon that blights our youthful hopes, — 

Hopes that bloom in life's summer-time, 

And wither beneath the winter's rime. 

'Tis night, and the night is dark and chill ; 

There's a helmet of sleet on the sombre hill ; 

There is storm above, there's foam below, 

And the air is oblique with cutting snow ; 

The clarion winds, in clamorous notes, 

Are answered back from the tongueless throats 

Which gape from the cavernous precipice 

That pouts its lips for the stormy kiss. 

'Tis the noon of night, and the creaking trees 

Are knelling the hour to the boisterous breeze ; 

And the moody owl, with solemn eyes, 

Has sheltered himself from the turbulent skies, 

In the dusky holes of the cedar-tree, 

And responds tu-whoo I to the jubilee. 

Each answers the other with right good will 



56 WACHUSET. 

From the clamorous air and the groaning hill ; 
Each answers the other with all his might, 
Shrieking and creaking the noon of night ! 

And there is a darksome demon clan, 

Who gloat on the storm and shivering snow, 

Whose only joy is the hate of man, 

Whose bliss is to work him woe. 
Their eyes are black, and their hearts are chill 
As the clouds that brood the dewy hill ; 
And they are glib, and they are glad, 

And have been many a day ; 
For a blue-eyed maiden has been sad, 
And the kelpies ken her raving mad, 

As she wanders the woodland way. 
And they giggle and grin in mad delight, 
And they harass her soul with all their might, 
And they chime and chant to the storm-king's rant, 

In a horrible roundelay. 



WACHUSET. 57 



KELPIES' CHORUS. 



Hark! hark! the night is dark, 
And the night is chilly and drear; 
Mortals may dream by the fire's red gleam, 

But never may venture here; 
Yet we are the demons who proudly dare 
To brook the breath of the stormy air ! 



'Tis a gala-night on the mountain's height, 

Old Boreas bellows with right good-will : 

Oh ! never before has the choral roar 

Of the stormy minstrels been so shrill ! 

How the pines careen, with their plumes of green, 

As they bow to the storm with a haughty mien ! 

How their long trunks creak a staccatoed shriek, 

To the chorus that comes o'er the mountain-peak ! 

And the tenor that rolls through their whistling limbs 

Is the wail of the woodland's chordless hymns. 



5S WACHUSET. 



III. 

The earth is soaked, and the pathways choked, 

And the fountains are seething, but not with heat; 

Caves echo the tones of the forest groans, 

And the tremulous boughs are bathed in sleet. 

How the frozen rain, with might and main, 

Is beating the boughs where the birds have lain! 

The gloom is our cheer; and, if mortal is here, 

We will harass his soul with a horrible fear. 

And the visions that pass through his wildering brain 

Are dark as the phantoms of Death's domain. 

IV. 

Hark! hark! the night is dark, 
And the horrible hour is full of cheer; 
Mortals may dream by the red fire's gleam, 

But never may venture here; 
Yet we are the demons who deftly dare 
To buffet the breath of the stormy air. 

The echoes of the kelpies' song 
Had reached a gentle faery throng ; 
And quick as lightning cleaves the sky, 
Or thought from place to place may fly, 



WACHUSET. 59 

That faery group stood hand in hand, 
Amid that darksome, demon band. 
And as the wrong avoid the right, 
Or gloomy shadows flee the light, 
The demons hide in the humid hill, 
And listen to the spirit trill ; 
For nymphs and fays, with voices rare, 

Joined in the melodie, 
While echoed through the stormy air 
The measures of their minstrelsy. 

The demon shadows deeper shrink 
Beneath the precipice's brink, 
Till the noxious air of the dank ravine 
Hideth all but their ghastly grin ; 
While the faery group in silvery vapors 

Down the mountain sways, 
Until their graceful outline tapers 

To minuter ravs. 



60 WACHUSET. 

They are hieing away through the weeping wood, 
They are going down on a mission of good ; 
For a sad one is wandering through the gloom : 

Zenilla is treading her wonted way, 
For she has been under the kelpies' doom 

For many a darksome da}' ; 
And there is a stranger down in the glade, 
Lost in the depths of the cedar shade. 

A serpent path the rugged hill 

Encircles around and about, 
And the weary traveler, cold and chill, 
Has followed the way with right good will 

Since the daylight hath gone out. 
But wrong goes he, with eager rush : 
The path leads not to a downy rest, 
But through the fern and berry-brush, 
And tangled brier and twisted vine, 
Stubbornly, sternly crossing his line, 

Winds up to the mountain's crest. 



WACHUSET. 6l 

He is coming home from a foreign land, 

He is coming to claim the plighted hand 

And the heart that was pledged when life was new, 

If she, perchance, the affianced bride, 

Remembereth the love that time hath tried, 

The love that to her has proved so true. 

Dull in the darkness there was a glimmer, — 
The fox-fire's phosphorescent shimmer ; 
Wherever he trod, the lambent flame, 
On soil or sod, it went and came, 

Flickering, flashing, 

Leaping and lashing 
The mossy stone and the wood decayed ; 
And it weirdly, wildly danced and played, 

Where his footsteps fell, 
Like a will o' the wisp in the solemn dell, 
Flickering, flashing all the way ; 
But there was no heat in the cheerless ray. 



62 WACHUSET. 

Ill he rests his aching head, • . 

Pillowed upon a stone ; 
Chill he lies, for his cavern bed 
Is dark as the land of the silent dead, — 
Dark as the tomb where dead men lay 
In the mouldering coffin dank and gray, — 

Alone, alone, 
Under the gray and the dripping stone, 
While the moments fall from the waves of time, 
As falls the mist of the winter's rime. 

But the fitful dreams that o'er him steal 
In strange confusion, but dimly reveal 
The spirit war that rages between 
The cruel kelpie and fairy queen ; 
For fairy voices in music streams, 
That never are heard except in dreams, 
Feebly, faintly rose and fell 
So softly, the dreamer could scarcely tell 



WACHUSET. 6$ 

If it was the breath of a loved one's sigh, 
Or the hum of a mother's lullaby. 

Is it a vision that fills his brain, 

That makes his heart to beat? 
Or is he living o'er again 

Those days so passing sweet? 
He may not tell, it is so real, 
If it is a dream of the soul's ideal, 
For there are times 'twixt waking and sleeping, 
When the laggard will is sentry keeping, 
When the spirits of light, who inhabit the air 
In the mountains and valleys and everywhere, 
May enter the mind with their subtle breath, 
And paint the mystery of life and death ; 
While the warp and the woof of the present and past 

Thrill the sense with images vast. 



What though his aching limbs are chilled? 
His swelling 1 bosom is tuneful filled 



64 WACHUSET. 

With memory's music streams ; 
Now like a waterfall the flow, 
Now like the eddy's whirl below, 

That in the sunlight gleams, 
They whisper when his heart was light, 

And when his life was new, 
Another fond heart day and night 

Beat with his so true, 
That did they throb apart or near, 

Did they beat in woe or weal, 
But one throbbing could they hear, 

But one palpitation feel. 
Yet a maiden's love may wax and wane : 
Ah ! is his cherished love in vain? 

There's a sound of music — a plaintive wail 
Borne on the breath of the reckless gale ; 
'Tis like the music of many rills, 
And its echo all the cavern thrills, 



WACHUSET. 65 

And its richness fills the traveler's ear, 

And he springs from his couch, but not with fear. 

Sinking, swelling, rising, falling 

In its cadence sweet and low, 
Like the hum of loving voices 

He had heard so long ago, — 

Sinking, swelling, soft and low, 

Like the voice of long. ago, — 
It tells a tale with sorrow laden, 
Tells of the grief of a love-lorn maiden, 
Tells how the heart of a beautiful one 
By love was made, by love undone. 

Zenilla's is that voice of woe : 

The kelpies have tuned it to the flow 

Of their pitiless shriek. They have lured her away 

From love and bloom to the mountain gloom, 

Where the desolate shadows stay ; 
And to and fro, through her living tomb, 



66 WACIIUSET. 

She wanders, heedless of all but the song 
Herself may sing of her bosom's wrong, 

When the light of her life went out ; 
Like some sweet bird torn from its mate, 
And fluttering in its prison grate, 

Knoweth no joy without. 

In wild refrain that thrilling strain 

Is borne with frenzied fleetness ; 
'Tis hushed, and now returns again, 

Smothered into sweetness ; 
And the song to the traveler's eager ear 
Has shaped itself distinct and clear, 
And his heart beats fast with the fresh blood's heat, 
And his pulses quicken at every beat ; 
Awake and alert his sense may be, 
But he may not fathom the mystery. 

A light in fitful flashes 
Streams into the cavern room, 



WACHUSET. 



6 7 



And now the flame of a flambeau lashes 

The quick-retreating gloom, 
Till the hurrying shadows fly with affright, 
Like guilty spirits that hate the light, 

To the deepest nooks of the cave ; 
While glancing from each dripping stone, 
Fantastic forms of fire-light shone, 

Like the moon on a rippling wave, 
And they lapped up the darkness, here and there, 
Till the dewy-walled cavern was all aglare. 

A sweet pale face, an eye of blue 
Shyly peering the cavern through, 
A queenly figure, lithe and light, 
Weirdly outlined against the night, 

Greeted the stranger's vision ; 
And he felt, as he gazed on the image fair, 
Some spirit of love, still draped in the air 

That fans the blest Elysian, 



68 WACHUSET. 

From its ethereal world of bliss 
Had sought the wildest part of this. 

The maiden glanced the cave around, 
And then, with measured move and slow, 
As if in fear of lurking foe, 
She placed the flambeau on the ground, 
And, standing beside its ruddy blaze, 
She fixed on him her searching gaze. 

" Stranger, what spirit hath beguiled 
Thy footsteps to this mountain wild? 
Knowest thou not I am its queen, 
And claim for my realm its groves of green? 
Comest thou from a foreign land, — 
The bearer of a court's command? 
Then vain the mission. No fealty I 

To other powers may own ; 
Return, and take them this reply : 

I live and rule alone ! 



WACHUSET. 69 

My kingdom is the solitude ; 
My castle walls the solemn wood ; 
The ivied cliff, my throne." 

The stranger marked the wild unrest 
That rankled in the maiden's breast, 
And kindly spoke : "Love's guiding star 
Hath led me to these wilds afar, 
To seek my childhood's home ; 
To dwell again beneath its skies, 
And from the light of lovelit eyes 
No more to roam." 

" This dreary wild and mountain glade 

But ill befit so fair a maid : 

Come, breathe to me thy bosom's woe ; 

Whisper softly, and tell me low, 

Of thy days of love, thy days of bloom, 

Ere first thy footsteps sought this gloom, 



70 WACHUSET. 

And I will listen till the morrow's 

Breaking bid me go, — 
With no thought of gentle slumbers, — 
Listen to the mournful numbers 

Of the grief that fills thee so. 
Tell me, maiden, of thy sorrows 

In the days of long ago." 

" Love ! it is a gentle word, 
The sweetest, mortal ever heard, 

But it has come too late ; 
And yet it traces on my soul 

The picture of a fairer fate : 
For the odor fills the blossom 

When its leaves are crushed and torn ; 
So the yearning of my bosom 

Is not gone. 
I thank thee for that blessed word ; 
It wakes the echo of music heard 



WACHUSKT. 71 

When life was in its May. 
Thou seemest like a star to me, 
That hath left the blue where the angels be 

To light my lonely way 
To thy beautiful home in the world above, 
And lead me again to youthful love. 

" What boots it to me, if they call me crazed, 

Down in the world of fashion ; 
If they secretly hint that my soul is behazed 

With a love-lorn fantasy's passion, — 
With a fancied love of a heartless one, 
Who hath my trusting heart undone? 

For they whisper about 
That the idol of my childhood's dream 
Hath put the light of my reason out. 

" I may not tell of that bliss divine 
That thrilled this pliant heart of mine, 



72 WACHUSET. 

When in the days of long ago 

It flushed with beauty from above, 

And revelled in a world of love ; 

But of the word that worked this woe, 

And drove me here, is thine to know." 



WACHUSET. 73 



PART THIRD. 



T~pOLUS mounts his car, and Boreas fills 

With furious, howling storms the earth and ocean, 
And drives Collina from the trembling hills, 
To gaze with wonder at the strange commotion ; 
For ocean, hill and plain must feel the bane 
Of storm and tempest, as in wild elation 
Their reckless arms do strive with might and main 
To strew the fresh and blooming earth with ghastly desola- 
tion. 



Like the whirlwind laden with sweet perfume, 
Like a warrior maiden in virgin bloom, 
Like the altar destroyed by its own incense, 

5 



74 WACHUSET. 

Was this dual influence 
On the wondering traveler's awakened sense ; 
With half of gladness, half regret, 
Since first the vision he had met ; 
And the lonely night went moaning along, 
While he listened to her song, — 
Listened to the mournful numbers 

Of her sorrows one by one, 
With never a thought of gentle slumbers, 

As the night went sighing on. 



Oh ! why should I attempt to hide 
The sin of an angry father's pride, 
When, disobedient to his word, 

A loved-one was adored ? 
I would that I was spared the tale 

That wrings my bosom so ; 



WACHUSET. 

Alas ! it will not now avail, 

And yet the words will flow. 
I know not why this night should bring 
Again those days of suffering ; 
Yet something prompts me to relate 
The story of my love and hate. 

It was the word of a hoary sire 

That set my loving heart on fire, — 

A cruel father's act, that wrung 

The tendrils of my love divine, 

That to its idol fondly clung ; 

That wound around that sacred shrine, 

As round the oak the ivy-vine. 

My darling, he said, was mean and low, 

Without a name or wealth or show, — 

A beggar, boor, unfit for me, — 

And never could rise to my degree ; 

As if he knew that heart's deep quiver 



75 



j6 WACHUSET. 

As well as I who dwelt there ever ! 

As if a world of wealth were weighed 

Against the heaven that love had made ! 

I heeded not the pitying hours 

That tallied on my soul its doom ; 

I recked not of the pitiless powers 

That penned me in a dungeoned room. 

I felt not, saw not, neither heard, 

For my heart-strings were strained to breaking 

And since he spoke that angry word, 

My eyes scarce rest from constant waking. 

I fled, I know not how or when, 

To wild Wachuset's wildest glen, 

And in its gloom, with solemn vow, 

I gave to grief my heart of woe. 

I stood upon the mountain's crest, 
Above the world I once had blest, 
And overlooked the lawn where lay, 



WACHUSET. 77 

In silvery sheen, 
Adown the valley far away, — 
As fair as when I was its queen, — 
My father's cottage on the green. 
I hurled my malediction dire 
Upon my hoary, hated sire ! 
A parent curse ! Why should I not? 
By him upon himself 'twas brought : 
He hurled my reason from its throne, 
And with it went a daughter's love. 
A will, to all but me unknown, 
Was left, — a will that none could move. 

Burned in my heart prophetic fire, 
That took possession of my breath, 
And prompted me to curse the sire 
Who gave me life, who gave me death. 
Scarce the malison was uttered, 
Ere the distant thunder muttered 



7S WACIIUSET. 

A rumbling answer to my will, 

Then boomed along the trembling hill ! 

And the valley below, that a moment ago 

Slept in the sunshine warm, 
Now frightened lay, draped in the gray 

Of the shadow of the storm. 
And the spectre clouds, in angry strife, 
Like demons who haunt a broken life, ■ 
Rose and fell in the frantic sky, 
To the clang of the tempest's fearful cry ; 
While down below, in a world of woe, 
The forest by the river's marge, 
Like an armed host, swayed to and fro, 

Bracing for the charge. 
Brighter the serpent lightning shone, 
And louder swelled the thunder's tone, 
Till flash on flash so sudden came, 
The hill was wrapped in sheet of flame. 



WACIIUSKT. 79 

Then came a voice from the surging deep, 

That drowned the thunders with its roar ; 

And every cave and craggy steep 

Flung back the echoes they could not keep, 

And opened their hungry mouths for more ; 

As my bosom opened to a father's bane, 

Then madly hurled it back again. 

It was the blast of the whirlwind's breath, — 

The whirlwind savage and sore, . 
That rides on the horrible steed of death, 

From the bergs of the borean shore. 
And he ravished the hill with frightful roar, 
And glutted the air with clamorous notes, 
Till wild confusion did outpour 
From the mountain's thousand throats ! 
And the giant trees affrighted rose, 

And in the whirlwind eddied, 
And rocks were torn from the repose 
Where they for ages had been bedded ! 



So WACHUSET. 

I gazed upon the whirlwind's might, 
And smiled exulting at the sight, 

And unappalled saw, 
Uprising in the stormy foam, 
And madly lashing the murky dome, 
The furious fragments of that home 

That I should know no more ! 

But why should I again rehearse 
The horrors of that frenzied curse, — 
That day of anguish, day of doom? 
For all my kith, and all my kin, 
Bowed to the whirlwind's wrath, and in 

Its vortex found a tomb ! 
But I never could have borne the blame, 
I never could have borne the sorrow, 
I never could have brooked the shame, 
But that I felt, upon the morrow, 
My soul's fond idol would come to claim 



WACHUSET. 8l 

The heart that for him had drunk such horror. 

Still that morrow never came, 

Still I nurse my bosom's flame. 

And many a night since then I've passed, 

When loudly wailed the tempest's blast 

Upon the rock where then I stood, 

Upon the spot from whence I viewed 

That direful scene, 
Which ghastly desolation brought 
Upon my happy childhood's cot, 
That erst lay sunning on the green. 

Oh ! what is this that thrills me so, 

Like joy and sorrow blended ? 
And what is this that whispers low, 
With the tender voice of long ago, 

My day of doom is ended? 
Is it a vision thou hast wrought 
That thrills me with the during thought 



82 WACHUSET. 

That thou art he? O God, the bliss, 
The bursting bliss, that floods my soul, — 
That brings such ecstasy as this ! 
O rapturous love ! O sweet desire ! 
Returning Reason's radiant light, 
That kindles my thraldom's gloomy pyre, 
That breaks upon my bosom's night, 
And drowns my senses in delight ! 



WACHUSET. 83 



CONCLUSION. 



'"T^HE kelpies are silent within the earth, 

In the watery caves that gave them birth, 
And the fairies are singing their sweetest lays 

All along the lonesome ways. 
The snows are feeding the verdured plain, 
And the spring is climbing the slopes again, 
To scatter the winter from the hills 

Where erst were frowning skies ; 
For the sunshine all the valley fills, 

That once was full of sighs, 
And it daintily dots the sombre shade, 

Under the forest trees, 
Leaping so cheerily over the glade, 
Where the buttercups bend to the breeze, 
Down in the crass in the diamond dew, 



Si WACHUSET. 

On the rippling rill on its silver spray, 
Tinging all with a golden hue, 
And scattering diamonds all the way, — 
Over the earth and through the air, 
Scattering diamonds everywhere. 
And while the blast of the winter goes, 
The balmy breath of the summer blows, 
Odored with richness, filled with the tale 
Of love that blooms in the sleeping vale ; 
While over the lawn and over the lea, 
Where Beauty is dancing full of glee, 
The noble youth and the matchless maiden 
Revel again in true love's Aiden. 




f^S^MSm^ 



THE SONG OF LIFE: 



INNOCENCE; PLEASURE; AMBITION; FRUITION. 



#> 



THE SONG OF LIFE. 



INNOCENCE. 



ax-* IGH above the music of the soul, 




pj When life's fair morn upon the world is dawning, 
There is a spirit-bell's prophetic toll : 
" One life only ! " is its mystic warning. 
Oh ! is there not a power can stay the hour, 
Or give us other life in full reality? 
A food for each desire is Nature's dower ; 
Then why not, for the yearning soul, responsive immortality? 



SS THE SONG OF LIFE. 

By the cradle's side there stood 
A mother fondly smiling, 

As her infant child she viewed 

(In a loving mother's mood), 
Thus the hours beguiling ; 

For this new life filled her sense 

With a holy influence. 

Gazing, dreaming, dreams of fame 
Flash upon her feeling, 

Lighting up the vestal flame ; 

But the bosom hath no name 
For this rich revealing 

Of its bliss, — this new creation 

Of her fond hope's culmination. 

Oh ! maternal love is deep 

As the flowing river ; 
Swelling tide, but never neap, 



THE SONG OF LIFE. 89 

Swelling onward, it will keep 

Swelling on for ever. 
Blighted hopes her path may strew ; 
Still a mother's love is true. 

Now the mother's heart is rife 

With the rising bliss : 
" Ere he sees another life," 
(If he conquer in the strife,) 

" He shall be great in this." 
And the swelling that is dwelling 
In her heart, this tale is telling. 

Hope inspired, she ponders never 

On the mystic warning ; 
Yet that life is fleeting ever, 
Like the mist upon the river, 

Like the dews of morning : 
Still the infant's innocence 
Is a mother's recompense. 
6 



0,0 THE SONG OF LIFE. 

Mother's love ! oh, blessed spirit, 

Flowing like the river ! 
More than token of our merit, 
Best of all that we inherit 

From the blessed Giver ! 
Love and mother ! treasure-laden, 
They can make this earth an Aiden. 

Reckless Change ! O dull Decay ! 

Are ye never sated? 
Day and night, and night and day, 
Bow we to thy cruel sway, 

Through ages still undated : 
Say, is there no peaceful haven 
Where thy deeds are never graven ? 

Love is blooming in her heart, 

Flushing it with gladness ; 
Cherish well, with cunning art, 



THE SONG OF LIFE. 91 

Well ; but love and life must part, 

Changing all to sadness ! 
O Love ! O Life ! so fondly mated, 
Are ye never consecrated ? 

By the cradle's side, in grief, 

Sits a mother weeping. 
Grief! It is a sweet relief, 
Mourning for a life so brief, 

Mourning for the sleeping. 
Hath the bud a future bloom ; 
Hope dispels the bosom's gloom. 

Still a mother's love is deep 

As the flowing river ; 
Swelling tide, but never neap, 
Swelling onward, it will keep 

Swelling on for ever. 
Though her sorrows come anew, 
Still a mother's love is true. 



9 2 



THE SONG OF LIFE. 

Knelling to her soul, again, 

Comes the solemn story : 
" One life only ! " Just begun? 
Heaven, oh, let the goal be won ! 

Else where is thy glory ? 
Life unlived ! Then Hope's blest light 
Faintly gleams beyond the night. 



THE SONG OF LIFE. 93 



PLEASURE. 



TIGH above the music of the soul, 

When life's bright morn is to its zenith swelling, 
" One life only ! " cometh like the toll 
Of funeral bell, the dirge of Childhood knelling. 
O Youth ! and must there be no life for thee, 
Of blessed peace, beyond the turbid river? 
Is all this flush of innocence to be 
A solemn blank upon the page of Destiny for ever? 



Oh ! the morn of life is bright 

As the blooming flowers. 
Beamy Day may laugh at Night ; 
Yet the sum of life will blight 



94 THE SONG OF LIFE. 

Childhood's rosy hours. 
O Love ! O Life ! so fondly mated, 
Are ye never consecrated ? 

Youth may plant, but Time will frost 

Every fading flower ; 
Youth may hope, but, tempest-tost 
On the shoals, the bark is lost, — 

Lost the fleeting bower 
Of their bosom's earthly treasures, — 
Bubble joys and phantom pleasures. 

Sad the hour that Pleasure brings, 

At her final meeting ; 
Sad the song Experience sings, 
Sadder still regret, that wrings 

Hearts with high hopes beating, 
For the knell of each to-morrow 
Tallies on the soul a sorrow. 



THE SONG OF LIFE. 

Still the morn of life is bright 
As the blooming flowers ; 

Beamy Day may laugh at Night ; 

Yet the sum of life will blight 
Childhood's rosy hours. 

O Love ! O Life ! so fondly mated, 

Are ye never consecrated? 

Still that fearful threnody 
Comes in solemn numbers : 

" One life only ! " Oh ! for thee, 

Blooming youth, and can there be 
No voice to break thy slumbers ?- 

To call thee to some higher station, 

For thy life's continuation? 



95 



96 THE SONG OF LIFE. 



AMBITION. 



T TIGH above the music of the soul, 

That thrills the noon of life with wild elation, 
When fierce Ambition, eager for the goal, 
Goads on its votaries to the wished-for station, 
There comes a plaintive wail that makes us quail : 
" One life only ! " breaks upon our dreaming. 
O human Power ! O Fame ! and will ye fail 
To crown us with that fadeless crown that erst was brightly 
2-leamins:? 



There are castles in the air, 

Beckoning us to glory ; 
Blooming, bright and wondrous, where, 
If our footsteps wander there, 



THE SONG OF LIFE. ^ 

We may write our story ; 
But many paths, through mazy ways. 
Lead us from the castle's rays. 

Where the warrior rushes are 

Fields of battle, gory ; 
And the crown he gathers there 
Is the guerdon of Despair, 

Gemmed with Sorrow's story. 
Life for life ! He takes away 
That he never can repay. 

And the miser's hoarded gold 

Clogs his weary hours ; 
'Tis for this his soul is sold : 
Rust and ruin, cankering, mould 

All his manly powers. 
Till his sordid life is done, 
Mammon is his Eidolon. 



98 THE SONG OF LIFE. 

And the anxious poet, gloating 

On his soul's ideal, 
Of the present makes no noting, — 
Heedeth not the pleasures floating 

Down among the real. 
May he never grasp the treasure 
Which his spirit strives to measure? 

Hope will lead us on and on, 
Through life's mimic gladness. 

When the day of bloom is done, 

When the fancied goal is won, 
Cometh the night of sadness. 

Starless night beyond the tomb ? 

Heaven forfend the fearful doom ! 

Still, beneath Ambition's load, 
Fostering gathering sorrows, 
We plod the joyless, fabulous road, 
Heeding not the cruel goad, 



THE SONG OF LIFE. 99 

Through all the ray less morrows. 
Heaven, is not the soul's ideal 
Found in thee a treasure real? 

Still the votaries of glory 

Tread the thorny way. 
When life's winter finds them hoary, 
If the trumpet tell their story, 

It is ample pay ; 
But ne'er comes the full fruition 
Of their sibylline ambition. 

Still the temple fades away 

From each fevered vision ; 
Every step our feet may stray, 
Every turn and every way, 

Leads us from Elysiun ; 
Yet with earnest, mad intent 
Toil we, till our life is spent. 



IOO THE SONG OF LIFE. 

Still the castles in the ail 

Beckon us to glory, 
Blooming, bright and wondrous, where, 
If our footsteps wander there, 

We may write our story. 
Yet the many mazy ways 
Lead us from the castle's rays. 

Still that song is murmured on, 

Mocking our ambition : 
" One life only ! " It is gone, 
And the fame, so dearly won, 

Lost in airy vision. 
O Hope ! O Life ! so sadly mated, 
Are ye never consecrated? 



THE SONG OF LIFE. IOI 



FRUITION. 



TTIGH above the music of the soul, 

When our hearts are sad and heads are hoary, 
That plaintive murmur cometh like the toll 
Of funeral bell, — the knell of human glory : 
" One life only ! " Is that life completed ? 
All things must have an end that are begun ; 
Have we no spirit-life. Time hath not meted? 
O Heaven ! where is thy glory if that goal is never won 



From the cradle to the grave, 

The path is paved with sorrow ; 
From the cradle to the grave, 
Man will make himself a slave 



102 THE SONG OF LIFE. 

To each coming morrow, 
Striving for that phantom treasure 
Which his soul may never measure. 

For the fame Hope pointed to 
Mocks our toil and trouble : 
'Tis the mirage that we pursue, 
And the temple is not true, 

Now a broken bubble ; 
Tell us, Fame, where is thy bliss 
In a changing world like this? 

Where the crown for which we strove ? 

Where thy promised glory ? 
Where the life and precious love 
Which our earnest bosoms wove 

In thy flattering story? 
O Love ! O Life ! so sadly mated, 
Are ye never consecrated ? 



THE SONG OF LIFE. IO3 

All the deeds that we have done 

The ebbing soul revulses. 
Ere the game of life is won, 
The*leaden blood is creeping on 

Through our leaden pulses ; 
Stolid apathy is hushing 
All the burdened bosom's gushing. 

The time is o'er, the day is past, 

The heart has ceased its quiver ; 
That which blooms must fade at last ; 
On the Shore we stand, aghast, 

And launch upon the River ! 
Eternal river shall it be? 
Sailing: on a senseless sea? 



High above the music of the soul, 

That warms our youth and fires our manhood's bloom, 

And high above the thrilling tones that roll 



104 THE SONG OF LIFE. 

Prophetic warnings of that fearful doom 
Of dull decay that knells us to the tomb, 
There is another Voice whose accents fire 
In holier ecstasy our life's desire. 
It is the ritornel of God's decree, — 
The glorious song of Immortality ! 
O blessed Hope, in every bosom planted ! 
O blessed Song, to every bosom chanted 
By angel voices, through the shadowed way 
That leads to fairer clime and brighter day, — 
That fills us with this sense of joy supernal, 
That first and last our life is One, Immortal and Eternal ! 



PICTURES IN THE SKY. 




<m 




PICTURES IN THE SKY. 



PART FIRST. 




NDER the dome of the summer blue 
A fleecy cloud floated in azure dew, 
Moving along, by the breezes fanned, 
Like a sylph of light in fairy-land. 



'Twas the radiant queen of a kingdom rare, 
That coursed through the calm of the upper air, 
Throned in a temple of diamond mist, 
Which the wooing heaven- wind tenderly kissed ; 
And above and about, with banners bright, 
Lay the pavilions of liquid light. 



IOS PICTURES IN THE SKY. 

Her garments were fringed with a golden blaze ; 

And the delicate-tinted purple rays, 

That blended the folds of her snowy dress, 

Softened the whole to loveliness ; 

And the dewy shadows, that went and came, 

With the luminous air were all aflame. 

Upon her brow was a radiant crown 
Of every jewel that man has known ; 
And all the glory the sunset brings 
To beautiful shapes, and all sweet things 
That people the air of the azure deep, 
Passed like a pageant of gentle sleep. 

And out in the valleys of golden dew, 

Margined with forests of every hue, 

Lay the lakes and the lilied lagoons. 

That swelled to the light like silvery moons, 

While many a fair isle daintily gave 

Its amber leaves to the purple wave ; 



PICTURES IN THE SKY. ICK) 

And the shimmering rivers and sparkling rills 
Leaped from the rocks of the ruby hills ; 
While the gorgeous landscape, all aglow 
With the light that was its life and show, 
Floated along in the azure skies, 
Like a dream of the poet's paradise. 

The sky was flecked with a fleecy throng, 
Drinking life as they moved along, 
Sporting around in luminous rings, 
Dissolving again to shapeless things ; 
Then, bursting into the amber light, 
They strewed the way with jewels bright. 

They brought rare flowers from the aether bowers, 

And sifted them down in haloed showers ; 

And they wove the ruby vines between 

The templed altars of their queen ; 

And every obeisance they made, it won 

A different robe from the setting sun. 



IIO PICTURES IN THE SKY. 

And they scattered the daisies and lily-bells, 

Plucked from the empyrean dells, 

About and before the imperial throne, 

Where the jeweled pavement with splendor shone 

And there was a fountain of sapphire spray, 

Sprinkling its brilliancy all the way. 

And there was one of princely mien, 
Who guarded with care his royal queen ; 
And save a gleam of silvery hue 
That traced his outline upon the blue, 
The stately knight was dark and gray 
As the heavy mist of a winter day. 

Yet his bosom heaved with royal pride, 

Like the eager swells of the coming tide, 

As he twined the wreaths she was proud to wear 

In the liquid folds of her golden hair ; 

But across her bosom's voluptuous swell 

His ominous shadow darkly fell. 



PICTURES IN THE SKY. Ill 

And the maiden queen, with never a thought 
Of the beautiful things the sunset wrought 
To people her realm, nor the fading day, 
That with her glory must pass away, 
Nestled herself on his sombre breast, 
Like a bird that goes to its evening nest. 



112 PICTURES IN THE SKY. 



PART SECOND. 



T TNDER the dome of the summer blue, 
Under the land of golden dew, 
In the far-down horizon's line of gloom, 
The king of the tempest mocked this bloom ; 
And a frowning host, with warlike mien, 
Menaced the realm of the lightsome queen. 

And that host came up on the rising gale, 

Clad in the robes of steely mail ; 

Out of the gloom where the thunders groan, 

Scaling the crags of the misty zone, 

With banners and foaming steeds, they came, 

And their lances were made of the lightning's flame. 

And they rose and fell in the murky deep 
To the boom of the thunder-guns, that keep 



PICTURES IN THE SKY. II3 

The echoing clouds repeating it where 
They press through the palpitating air , 
Surging and seething and swelling through 
The foamy way to the dome of blue ! 

And there was a charger with flowing mane 
And reeking sides, that led the train ; 
And his stately rider, the king of the gale, 
With a burnished crest and a silver mail, 
Proudly rose to the shimmering light, 
Like the phantom form of a demon knight. 

And that feathery cloud, — that midnight stain, — 

Half-hid in the depths of the surging rain, 

Now rolling with such a voluptuous swell 

Into the light, and down the dell 

Of dismal clouds, is the queen of that king 

Who, conquering, rides on the tempest's wing. 

The ravaging army came on, amain, 

Till they reached the zenith, — a clamorous train, — 



14 PICTURES IN THE SKY. 

Drinking the dews of the fairy land, 
Destroying all with the ruthless hand 
Of a vandal horde, while, under all, 
The delicate rain-drops gently fall. 

They have compassed the queen and her retinue, 
They have blotted her bloom from the dome of blue ; 
Her kingdom is dark with the coming doom, 
Her land of dew is a land of gloom ; 
And a muffled murmur of wild despair 
Runs through the ranks of the ravenous air. 



And the stately knight who plighted her 
When draped in golden gossamer, 
When, all abloom, she shared her throne 
And her maiden love with him, is flown. 
Out in the surge of the shadowy way, 
He is mocking the love of a fairer day. 



PICTURES IN THE SKY. 

The battle is past, and the freshening shower 

Has sprinkled a diamond in every flower ; 

And that luminous circle that spans the sky, 

Like a bow of promise to all that die, 

Is to the queen a crown more true, 

That never was seen when the skies were blue. 



'Tis thus we are pressed in the battle of life, 
'Tis thus we are compassed about with strife 
While love and glory, and all things fair, 
Are swept away like a world of air ; 
And the fairest of all whose hearts are warm 
Must bow to the blast of Death's wild storm. 

And when the battle of life is o'er, 
And the beautiful earth is ours no more, 



Il6 PICTURES IN THE SKY. 

May we not find, in some rainbowed bower, 

A perishless diamond in every flower ; 

And a fadeless crown of every hue, 

That never was seen when life's skies were blue? 




MISCELLANEOUS. 




DREAM-WORLD. 




jCrtfra HEN soft slumber hushes the soul in repose, 

^) And the curtain unfolds where the dream-world 
glows, 

And the phantoms of fancy, with strange behests, 
Move solemn and slow, like funeral guests, — 
Then above and about there's a mystic gleam, 
Like the flash of the stars on a rippling stream ; 
There's a moment of darkness, a silence intense, 
And the glory of Eden entrances the sense. 



1 20 DREAM-WORLD. 

Then we wander away 

To the woodland hill, 

And bathe in the spray 

Of the mountain rill ; 

And rest in the shades 

Of the odorous grove, 

Where all is as pure 

As the spirit of love, — 

Where the sunlight sleeps 

In a sparkling tide, 

In the floral halls 

Of the mountain-side, — 

Where the west wind gathers 

The breath of the flowers, 

And wafts the perfume 

Through the greenwood bowers, — 

Beneath the green oak's leafy dome, 

Through the sunny hours, 

We make our home, 



DREAM-WORLD. 121 

And trace the labyrinths, under the trees, 
With the Dryades. 

Ages seem rolling by, 
Dim to the sense ; 
Measureless treasures lie 
Through the immense 
Of delight ; to the sight, 
Brighter the vision grows, 
Clearer Elysian flows, 
As, in soft slumbers, Time numbers the night. 

Then the soul is filled 
With a new desire, 
With the musical thrum 
Of Collina's lyre, 
And the paeans that come, 
In ravishing notes, 
From the plumy throats 
3 



122 DREAM-WORLD. 

Of the mountain choir ; 
And the varied voice 
Of the balmy breeze, 
Humming its murmur 
Among the trees, 
Wafts them away 
Where the echoes stay, 
Whispering melodies all the way. 

Then away from the mountain, 

Away from the hills, 

To the foamy fountain 

Of many rills, 

Where the sunbeams glance 

On the silvery sea, 

And the nereids dance 

To the melodie 

Of the wind-harp's swelling, 

That never is hushed 



DREAM-WORLD. 1 23 

In its billowy dwelling ; 
Singing so sprightly, 
Floating so lightly, 
Over the waves of the silvery sea. 

Then down through the tide, 

To the coral grove, 

Where the solemn-eyed fishes 

In unrest rove, 

To the twilighted halls 

Of the coral caves, 

Deep under the surge 

Of the wayward waves, 

To Doris' dominions, 

Down under the waves. 

There, in the coral glades 

Under the sea, 
In the soft twilight's shades 

We shall be free, 



124 DREAM-WORLD. 

With the bright water-sprite 
Seeking new pleasures where 
Thetis' treasures are, 
Under the billows and pillows of light. 

Then the columns of coral 
Will throw back the ray, 
Through the sea-valleys floral, 

And halls of the fay. 
Then upward we sweep, 
From the waveless deep, 
Where the storms are torpescent, 
And the waters, quiescent, 
In solitude sleep. 

On winged lightnings flying, 
We heavenward rise, 

Ecstatic, erratic, 

Up-scaling the skies. 



DREAM-WORLD. 1%$ 

Here we see Purity 
In beauty dwelling where, 
(Happiness quelling care,) 
Nothing can ever dissever the free. 

Still onward and upward, 

Through the azure of night, 
To the realms of Urania, — 

Her palace of light ; 
Baptizing the soul 

In its magical flight, 
In the tremulous comet's 

Electrical light. 

Thus purified, soar 

To a region of glory, 
Surpassing the more 

Modest bloom of Aurora, 
To a region so measureless, 



1 26 DREAM-WORLD . 

Astrea with thee, 
Leaving the treasureless 

Earth and the sea, 
For the bosom of love 

Where the loved ones be. 

Here we find those we knew 

When life was gay, 
Ere death had ventured to 

Snatch them away. 
Now will thy spirit sigh 
In the re-union thrill, 
W T ith sweet communion, till 
The dawn of the morn leads us down from the sky 

Suddenly changing, they 

Fade from the sight : 
Gone, like a cloud, away 

Is our delight. 



DREAM-WORLD. 

Lethe's stream drowns the dream, 
Yet Memory treasures all, 
Till we the pleasures call, 

And from Elysian the vision redeem. 



127 





THE MOONLIGHT SERENADE. 



i/npi 



WAS a bliss sublime, 
In the olden time, 
When the lover was suffered his love to tell, 
To list to the chime 
Of the music and rhyme 
That came from the love-song's ritornel ; 
And nought was so sweet to the Spanish maid 
As the song of the moonlight serenade. 



How the maiden sighed 
As her lover hied 



THE MOONLIGHT SERENADE. I 20, 

To the open casement, or lattice bower ! 

It was sweet to her soul, 

The erotic roll 
Of fervor that flowed from his wild guitar ; 
But many a maiden has been betrayed 
By the song of the moonlight serenade. 

There's a legended tale, 

How a father did wail 
And weep for the loss of Zetella, his child. 

She was beauteous and fair, 

But too fond of night-air, 
When its waving vibrations with music was wild ; 
For a gnome was the lover who sang and played 
The song of the moonlight serenade. 

And nightly there 
Rescunded the air 
With the mystic melody love will inspire ; 



130 THE MOONLIGHT SERENADE. 

The gnome he played, 

And Zetella prayed 
For the kind consent of her aged sire ; 
But the sire, alas ! was not to be swayed 
By the song of the moonlight serenade. 

One night, when the moon 

Had vanished too soon, 
Thus sang the weird gnome : " Zetella dear, 

Oh ! come with me 

Far over the sea, 
And we of thy sire shall have nothing to fear, 
For I will be with thee : then be not afraid, 
For love is the burthen of my serenade. 

" There is untold worth 
In the vaults of earth, 
And beauties that fade not away with time ; 
And we'll banish woe 
From our home below, 



THE MOONLIGHT SERENADE. 131 

And thou shalt be queen over all the clime. 
Then haste thee away." Zetella obeyed 
The gnome, and his moonlight serenade. 

Then her beauty did fade, 

For her home was made 
Deep down in the earth in the sunless cells, 

Where love cheers not 

The crystalline grot, 
In a dark, dank region where love never dwells ; 
And she found, too late, she had been betrayed 
By the song of the moonlight serenade. 

Now, maidens, beware 

How you breathe the night-air, 
When there floats on its bosom your own bosom's sigh, 

Or you'll feel the keen smart 

Of a wound in your heart, 
Which you've no way to heal but to lie down and die ; 
For many a maiden has been betrayed 
Bv the sonsr of the moonlight serenade. 




AUTUMN'S LESSON. 



T 



HE leaves are falling, 
And summer flowers 
Have ceased to blossom 
In summer bowers, 
And the zephyrs no more dally 
With the lilies of the valley, 
With the peonies and pansies, 
With the buttercups and daisies, 
In the groves and in the mazes 
Of the meadow ; but the weary wind is sighing, 
Through all the trembling trees, 



autumn's lesson. 133 

Day and night, and night and day, 

With a fearful prophesying 

Of the dying summer day ; 

And the ominous scarlet blaze 

Of the fading forest trees 

Is the robe of solemn Death, 
As he rides upon the melancholy breeze, 

And the misty, feathery haze 

Is his breath, — 
Is the winding-sheet of Summer, sunny Summer ; 

And the mellifluous notes 

That were welling from the throats 

Of the polyphonian choir, 

That made the violet air 

So palpitate with music, 

Now are silent. Everywhere 
Is swelling the knelling of the Summer's sunny hours. 

I feel the solemn warning, 
I hear the hollow moan 



134 AUTUMN S LESSON. 

Of the never-weary wind, 

With its mournful monotone ; 
And I listen to the humming, 

As the chordless anthem rolls ; 
And I listen to the thrumming 
Of the lyre of the ghouls, 
As it tells of decay, — 
As it tallies on our souls 
Every moment passed away. 
Oh ! is there not a flower that can stay? 
Not a leaf, not a spray, 
That shall weave a summer way, 
Full of beauty, full of bloom, 
Through the weary winter's <doom ? 
Oh ! must the north wind's breath 
Scatter death, 
Scatter doom, 
Scatter all our hope of life, 
In the strife, 



autumn's lesson. 135 

As it hurries, thus, the living to the tomb? — 
Hurries, thus, the Summer and her flowers, 
To the shadow of the never-counted hours? 

Then a spirit, that is keeping 
Solemn vigils in my bosom, with its weeping, 
Seems to say, 

" Thou art hasting, thus, away, 

In thy dreaming, to the tomb ; 

Passing, like the fading flowers, 

That ne'er again shall bloom 
In summer bowers. 
Thus, too, there may 

Be sorrow, grief, and sighing 

When thou shalt pass away ; 

When the ties of earth are broken, 
And the loved ones of thy bosom shall appear, 

And offer the last token 
Of their love, and gather round thy bier, 



136 autumn's lesson. 

Moaning, weeping, sighing, 
When thou shalt pass away, — art dying, — 
Never to see again the day for ever ! 

But the storms of winter go, 

And the sun will melt the snow ; 

There is music in the air, 

There is beauty in the bowers, — 

Song and beauty everywhere 

Woven in the sunny hours ; 

And the May-time comes again, 

With all her smiling train 

Of animated life, 
Banishing the sighing, banishing the strife, 
Waking all the legions of the einbryotic flowers, 
Waking into living all the flowers and the trees, 

And the voices of the breeze 

Are merging into murmurs of delight ; 

They are whispering their plight, 



autumn's lesson. 137 

Through all the glowing hours, — 
Through the silence of the night, — 
To the budding and the bursting of the flowers, 

From earth and skies 

Thanksgivings rise, 
For that blest law that God doth give, 
That all may die to live. 

Shall not I as well as they? 
Then a spirit that is dwelling 
In my bosom, with its swelling, 

Seems to say, 
" From the darkness of the tomb 
(Inevitable doom), 
All life shall bloom again, 
Free from sorrow, free from pain, 
Free from the north wind's breath, 
Free from the blight of death, 
In a sweet May-land above 
9 



i^S autumn's lesson. 

All the threatening of the night, 
And the yearning after light, 
Above life's chilling snow, 
Above the bosom's woe, 
Where thy spirit shall, 
Shall inherit 
All the fragrance of that flower that the angels christen 
love." 






IDYLIA. 



T'VE built my love a bower on the lawn, 
And I have sprinkled roses on the roof, 
And thyme upon the floor, and since the dawn, 
Have wove the honeysuckle in the woof. 

And now arises on the waving air 
The sweet perfume of morning's dewy breath, 
While I am watching, from love's rosy lair, 
To see Idylia tripping o'er the heath. 

She promised she would meet me at the bower ; 
She promised, too, that it should not be late ; 
Yet I've been mourning through this weary hour, 
As mourns the turtle for his tardy mate. 



140 



IDYLIA. 

A light step trips along the dewy hill, 
A sweet voice echoes o'er the sunny lea : 
I know it by its ever-merry trill ; 
I know the echoes by their tones of glee. 

And she has hastened till her face is flushed 
With softest tints of morning's rosy glow ; 
The lark is still, the linnet's voice is hushed, 
To hear awhile such rapturous music flow. 

Besprinkled o'er her brow of pearly white, 
The pouting drops of crystal lie at rest, 
And sparkle in the rainbow-tinted light, 
Like diamond dew upon the lily's crest. 



" Ah ! I have waited here for thee so long, 
And I have listened for thine airy tread, 
And I had thought to chide thee when that song 
Of gladness from thy rosy lip had fled. 



1DYI.IA. 141 

" Come rest thee now within this fragrant bower ; 
Come wreathe thy tiny fingers, love, in mine, 
As I have wreathed the roses for this hour, 
While deeming every robin's note was thine. 

" Come, twine thy tresses round my bosom, love, 
And lay thy head where it so often lies, 
That I may watch the tangled hues above 
Reflected in the depths of thy blue eyes." 




ii>^& 



CAMBAHEE. 



rvOWN upon the dancing river, 
Cambahee, 

Dwelt together I and Eva 

Happily ; 
Other bliss we never sought, 
Of no other pleasures thought, 
Than to know two loving souls, 
Full of glee, 
Dwelt together on the shoals 

Of Cambahee. 



CAMBAIIEE. 143 



But a sad and solemn order 

Came to me 
From the chieftain of the border 

Of the sea. 
In the land where Eva dwelt, 
Tyrant Saxon swords were felt : 
Kisses, then, and tears, from Eva 

Flowed as free 
As the ripples of the river 

Cambahee. 

By my side the youthful braves 

Fought and fell, 
Till the blood, like water-waves, 

Drenched the dell. 
Onward rushed the foemen strong, 
Treading to the battle-song, 
Till I feared that my sweet Eva, 
Far from me, 



i44 



CAMBAIIEE. 



Would be driven forth for ever 

From Cambahee. 

'Mid the carnage, dust, and smoke, 

There was one, 
Strange and wild, whose ready stroke 

Praises won ; 
And when foemen round me pressed, 
Blows were broken by the breast 
Of that strange one : it was Eva ! 

Woe is me ! 
Love is lost, and joy for ever, 

On Cambahee ! 





THE TEAR-SPIRIT. 



I 



CAME when the night-bird was singing 



Her song in the dell, 
And Echo was busily flinging 
The notes where the tomb-spirits dwell, 
In their sepulchre-cell, 
When the old church-bell was ringing 
So solemn, and mournfully bringing 
On my spirit a mystical spell. 
'Twas the church where Minora was wedded, 
Where the warp of his love was threaded 
With the woof of his bride's, and well ; 
The bell that chimed his knell, 



I46 THE TEAR-SPIRIT. 

That tolled when Minora was bedded 
In the earth, where every one dreaded 
To look in his sepulchre-cell, 
To bid him a final farewell. 

Then I sat down in sorrow beside it, — 
In grief, beside his cold grave. 
My sorrow, I wished not to hide it ; 
My anguish, I scarce could abide it ; 
And the tear-drops my wan cheek did lave 
The grief-token, how could I chide it? 
So his heart, it drank up the tear-wave 
That trickled down on his cold grave. 

Then arose to my vision a vapor, 
A mist that came up from his tomb : 
And it came like the flame of the taper, 
The foxfire lights in the gloom ; 
And it said, " Thy love is requited, 
The tomb his love has not blighted, 



THE TEAR-SPIRIT. 147 

The grave your loves cannot part ! " 
Then I knew, by my own bosom's swelling, 
The tomb is not made for love's dwelling, 
The grave's not a home for the heart, 
And our souls shall again be united 
Where the loving and loved never part. 





FOUR DEGREES OF LOVE. 



T ASKED a prattling infant, while it played 

Upon its mother's bosom with delight, 
And while the golden tresses careless strayed 
Around its chubby shoulders, pure and white : 
"What feel'st thou for thy mother, gentle dove?" 
It smiled in innocence, and lisped, " 'Tis love." 



I asked a beauteous girl, as bright and pure 
As fresh-blown roses of a summer day, — 
Nor grief nor sadness from her eye could lure 
A tear her smiling did not chase away, 



FOUR DEGREES OF LOVE. 



l 49 



For with despair her youthful heart ne'er strove, — 
" What makes thee glad ? " She, laughing, answered, 
« Love." 

I asked a maid, whose eye had ceased to glow, 

Or light the beauty of her faded cheek, 

While Melancholy sat upon her brow, 

And grief was in her smile, — the pathway bleak 

Wherein with maiden fortitude she strove, — 

" What mars thy peace ? " She faintly whispered, " Love." 

I asked a faithful wife, — whose constant care 

To cheer the loved one was her greatest pleasure ; 

Who strove incessantly that she might share 

That love that was her dearest earthly treasure, 

For Virtue round their hearts her chaplet wove, — 

" What sweetens woman's toil?" She answered, " Love." 




THE POET-ZONE. 



'ipOILING in the night-time, 
Toiling by the light 
Of the taper, on the paper, 

Through the weary night ; 
All along the land-marks, 
Through the great unknown, 
There the eager poet wanders 

With his soul alone, 
Reaching, writing, heart inditing, 
Weary waiting for the lighting 
Of the poet-zone. 



THE POET-ZONE. 151 

Down among the karl-kings 
Of the humid earth, 
Where the fountain of the mountain 
Had its primal birth ; 
Up among the star-lights, 

Glinting in the blue, 
Roving through the rainbows 
Of supernal dew, 
Seeking treasure for his measure, — 
Seeking evanescent pleasure, — 
In the poet-zone. 

Raving, in his unrest, 
With delicious pain, 
Embryotic thought, erotic, 

Rushes through his brain ; 
And the taunting soul-guide, 
Wayward ciceron', 
Toles the tireless spirit where 



152 THE POET-ZONE. 

Pierian pearls are strown, 
To the ages of the sages, 
Of the antiquated pages 

Of the poet-zone. 

Striving for the soul-thought 

Burning in his brow, 
Barely breathing, rarely wreathing, 

Rhyme and rhythm flow ; 
And with hurried heart-beats, 

Rolling one by one, 
Weaves the mystic monologues 

In a monotone ; 
Culling any of the many 
Beauties of the miscellany 

Of the poet-zone. 





GLOOM AND BLOOM. 



' I ^HE day is dark, and cloud and gloom 
Throw solemn shadows in my room ; 
The music of the gentle rain 
Has ceased its patter on the pane, 
And shriller shrieks and wilder song 
Are swept by Borean winds along: 
But still the sun is shining high 
Above the melancholy sky. 



The angry clouds are floating low ; 
The woods are swaying to and fro ; 
10 



i54 



GLOOM AND BLOOM. 

A deeper gloom, a deeper shade, 
Is on the meadow, hill, and glade ; 
I feel, though dark the shadows fall, 
My heart is sadder than them all : 
But still the sun is shining high 
Above the melancholy sky. 





*- 



DAISY. 



TV TY Daisy is a darling girl, 

With heart so true, 

And o'er her neck hangs many a curl 
Of golden hue ; 

And then her eyes, — such beamy eyes, — 

As liquid as the azure skies, 

And a stormy sparkle in them lies, 

That thrills me through ; 

But I'll not tell you of the trance 

She throws me into with their glance. 

Why should I, if I could ? — and, true, 

How could I, if I wanted to? 



I56 DAISY. 

My Daisy's like the little bird 

That skims the air : 
Sure such a voice was never heard, — 
So rich and rare : 
'Tis sweeter than a tuned lute, 
More liquid than the mellow flute ; 
And when she sings, the lark is mute, 
The linnets stare ; 
But I'll not tell how full and free 
It warbled when she plighted me. 
Why should I, if I could? — and, true, 
How could I, if I wanted to? 

My Daisy, she is blithe and fair, 

And fresh and free, 

And then she has a jaunty air 

That pleases me ; 

Her cheek is like the dewy rose, 

Her teeth as white as mountain snows ; 



DAISY. 157 

Her limbs are lithe, and no one knows 

So well as she — 
But I'll not tell you of the bliss 
That floods me with her modest kiss. 
Why should I, if I could? — and, true, 
How could I, if I wanted to? 

My Daisy's good, my Daisy's true 

As true can be ; 
Her love is fresh as morning dew, 

And she loves me. 
Modest as a May-night moon, 
Brilliant as the sun at noon, 
I shall marry Daisy soon, 

And then you'll see — 
But I'll not give you further sign, 
For Daisy's but a dream of mine. 
Why should I, if I could? — and, true, 
How could I, if I wanted to ? 




NARCISSUS AND PHOTOGRAPHY. 



"1VTARCISSUS, one day, 
As mythologies say, 
Was hunting a buck on the bank of a river, 

When, tired of the chase, 

He slackened his pace, 
And threw on the turf his bow and his quiver, 
And sat down beside them on the mossy brink, 
And leaned himself over to lave and to drink. 

The water was clear, 
And, as he drew near, 
Exquisitely imaged each delicate feature. 



NARCISSUS AND PHOTOGRAPHY. 

He was somewhat amazed 

At the bright eyes that gazed 
From the arched brow of a beautiful creature ; 
And his wonder increased when he saw those eyes 
Answer his glance with the same surprise. 

The first impulse was this, — 

To snatch a sweet kiss ; 
Quite natural, too, as the liquid he tipples ; 

But his rosy-hued lips 

Had scarce touched their tips, 
When the waves away darted in concentric ripples, 
And a hundred distorted faces, or more, 
Hurried away to the opposite shore. 

Then, day after day, 
He wandered away 
To gaze at himself in the beautiful river : 
'Twas his Eden now, 
And the buck and the roe 



159 



l6o NARCISSUS AND PHOTOGRAPHY. 

Needed no flight from his bow and his quiver ; 
So the silly youth strove to get rid of himself, 
Just to hug to his bosom his shadowy elf. 

Then he pined away, 

For the love, they say, 
Of his own sweet self, who didn't return it ; 

And he wept by the side 

Of the crystal tide, 
In the hope that perhaps his devotion might earn it ; 
Till at last, as he watched by his shadowy bride, 
Worn out with the love of himself, he died. 

Then Jupiter, true 

To his subject's due, 
Changed the youth to a beautiful flower ; 

And Apollo declared, 

If he should be spared 
An age or two longer, he'd have the power 
To paint the image of all who may 
Call upon him in the proper way. 



M Y R E N E. 



T HAVE a picture of Myrene : 

Fairer one was never seen. 
Note the waves of golden hair 
Creeping o'er her bosom fair ; 
Mark the lustre of her eyes, 
Glowing like the starry skies, — 
Eyes that seem communing now, 
Speaking from her thoughtful brow, 
Speaking bliss no one may tell, — 
Bliss, alas ! I knew too well. 
Though the Fates decree we part, 
I wear this image next my heart. 



1 62 MYRENE. 

She was fair to look upon 

x\s an houri ; and I won, 

As the sunlight wins the dew, 

All the love her bosom knew. 

Days of joy went noiseless by, 

As the twilight leaves the sky. 

When the faintest ray was gone, 

Came the night without a dawn, 

Shutting from my soul the sheen 

Of the blue eyes of Myrene ; 

Yet, though for another sphere 

She has left me drooping here, 

Two joys are mine, and they are sighs, 

And gazing on her pictured eyes. 



SUMMER MORNING. 



A LL hushed and still, the voiceless air 
Is sleeping in the vale ; 
The morning rises fresh and fair, 
Like a veiled nun from holy prayer, 
And her dewy light is pale. 



II. 

Aurora now, in robes of red, 

And chariot of fire, 
Arises from her azure bed, 
With torch of flame by Phoebus fed, 

And lights the gloomy pyre. 



164 SUMMER MORNING. 

III. 

And, soaring up the starry dome, 

Out-blooms each starry ray, 
Proclaiming from her mystic tome, 
The glorious god of day has come, 
To chase the gloom away. 

IV. 

The blushes on her brow of light, 

The crimson of her crest, 
That lights the interlunar night, 
Are melting to a pearly white, 

Adown the distant west. 

v. 

The summer sun, in mellow hues, 
The landscape now is steeping ; 

The fleet Aurora still pursues ; 

While kissing up the crystal dews, 

The night-flowers have been weeping. 



SUMMER MORNING. 1 65 

VI. 

The merry lark, with song of praise, 

Has scaled the misty wall, 
And laves her in the genial rays, 
And sings her merry matin lays, 

Above the floating pall. 

VII. 

All nature, smiling, ushers in, 

From midnight's silent sadness, 
The purple morn with sandals green, 
The summer morn, so fair and sheen, 

With notes of joy and gladness. 



1Qgrw***> 



SONGS. 





MUSIC OF THE DRUM, 



i. 




OME, soldiers, come to the rolling of the drum, — 
' To the clatter and the batter of the spirit-stirring 

drum. 

How the furious music rolls ! 
How it thrills our very souls ! 
For there's battle in the rattle of the drum, drum, drum. 



ii. 



At the rolling of the drum will every soldier come, 
With his palpitating bosom keeping measure to the drum ; 

ii 



I70 MUSIC OF THE DRUM. 

And every step he takes, 
And every move he makes, 
Is responding to the pounding of the drum, drum, drum. 

in. 
When he bursts into the battle, and the fiery foemen come, 
Then his feet are wafted onward by the swelling of the drum. 

For the soldier's soul is rife 

With the warble of the fife, 
And the rolling and the trolling of the drum, drum, drum. 

IV. 

For when he hears the hum of the rapid-rolling drum, — 
The reverberating rattle of the clamorous kettle-drum, — 
He can brave the cannon's roar, 
He can rush through fields of gore, 
To the humming and the drumming of the drum, drum, 
drum. 

v. 
And when the battle's ended, and the cannon's mouth is 
dumb, 



MUSIC OF THE DRUM. 171 

Then his weary limbs will rally at the rattle of the drum ; 

For the wounded must be dressed, 

And the lost be laid to rest 
With a muffle on the ruffle of the drum, drum, drum. 

VI. 

Then the weary mourners come to the murmur of the 

drum, — 
To the sad and solemn measure of the melancholy drum ; 

When the music sinks and swells, 

What a world of woe it tells, 
In the surges of the dirges of the drum, drum, drum ! 

VII. 

Then come, soldiers, come to the rolling of the drum, 
To the clatter and the batter of the spirit-stirring drum. 

How the furious music rolls ! 

How it thrills our very souls ! 
For there's battle in the rattle of the drum, drum, drum. 




THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 



TT THERE the land slopes down to a little brook, 

That prattles its way from a sylvan nook 
In the mountain side ; where the summer breeze 
Toys with the leaves of the maple-trees, 
And the robin and wren, with song ever new, 
Warble their music the whole day through, — 
Just over the bridge by the old saw-mill 
Stands a little red school-house under the hill. 



THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 1 73 

II. 

Ah ! well I remember those school-day times, 

When life was a flow of brook-like rhymes. 

The house was small, and the benches spare, 

But those who filled them were fresh and fair ; 

And many a lesson my bosom took, 

That was not learned from the spelling-book : 

These dreams of the past are with me still, 

That were dreamed in the school-house under the hill. 

in. 

Long years since then have passed away, 
And the old school-house has gone to decay ; 
The sagging boards of paint are shorn, 
And the slanting gables are weather-worn ; 
And there are holes, in the roof about, 
Where the owl and bat go in and out, 
And that is so sad to think of: still, 
'Tis the same old school-house under the hill. 



74 



THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 
IV. 

As I gaze at the house, all shattered and gray, 
It beckons me up the little foot-way, 
That once was so pleasant, now a mass 
Of darnels and thistles and tangled grass ; 
So I pass, with a shudder, the creaking door, 
And daintily, orderly, cross the floor, 
And glide to the seat I once did fill 
In the little red school-house under the hill. 

v. 

Then scenes long past arise to my view, 
And the days of my boyhood come back anew ; 
And I hear the buzz of the busy school, 
And the sharp rat-tat of the master's rule ; 
The classes come on to the floor again, 
With the stalwart boy at the foot, as then ; 
And again the jubilant voices fill 
The little red school-house under the hill. 



THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 
VI. 

Then I play the tricks that I used to play- 
When the master's face was turned away ; 
And again, as I stand at the head of the class, 
I miss the word that she may pass, 
And I catch the glow of her modest eyes ; 
It is ample pay for the quarter's prize ; 
She wins with a blush, I lose with a thrill 
Of pride, in the school-house under the hill. 

VII. 

The vision is over : the f resent is here ; 
I leave the old seat with a parting tear, 
For never again will the flush and prime 
Of youth come back to that golden time ; 
The little bird's song is a plaintive moan, 
And the trill of the brook has a solemn tone ; 
Yet memories prompt me to linger still 
By the little red school-house under the hill. 



*75 



176 THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 

VIII. 

Like thee, old house, I am shattered and gray, 

And I wonder, when I shall pass away, 

If ever a heart will cherish, for me, 

Memories as dear as mine for thee. 

I turn away, with a last fond look 

At the green hill-slopes and the murmuring brook, 

And the crumbling doors and the rotting sill 

Of the little red school-house under the hill. 



\^cM 




THE SPIRIT-BRIDE. 



T WANDERED forth, one starry night, 

Along the woodland hill, 
Where Cynthia's pure and placid light 

Was glancing on the rill. 
I trod alone, in pensive mood, 

The beamy water's side, 
And saw, in that sweet solitude, 

My soul's ideal bride. 



II. 



About her form, a halo bright 
Of lucid radiance fell ; 



1^8 THE SPIRIT-BRIDE. 

As rays of noonday's streaming light 

Dart in a darkened cell. 
I knew it was a dream, and yet 

I nestled by her side ; 
So happy I, that I had met 

My own, my spirit-bride. 

III. 

We wandered through a summer way, 

Where bliss and beauty reign, 
And revelled in that endless day 

Beyond the land of pain. 
" That blessed love and glorious light, 

That death cannot divide, 
Is all for us beyond life's night," 

Thus said my spirit-bride. 

IV. 

We wandered through a summer clime, 
Where loved ones never sigh ; 



THE SPIRIT-BRIDE. I 79 

And as we loved in childhood's time, 

So loved we in the sky. 
Nor till Aurora's rosy glance 

The azure dome had dyed, 
Did Reason wake me from the trance 

And steal my spirit-bride. 

V. 

Was it a fantasy, — a dream, — 

That in my brain had birth, 
And has no type, and yet doth seem 

As real as the earth ? 
I know it was a dream, and yet 

To truth is so allied, 
That I should feel a keen regret 

To lose my spirit-bride. 




LOVE'S SYMBOLS. 



W 



"HEN the light breezes blow, 
So gentle and low, 
Weaving sweet melodies into the hours, 

They breathe the perfume 

Of the lilies that bloom 
In the sunlighted valleys and dew-dripping bowers ; 
And they whisper to me of a heart ever true, 
As the lily whose petals unfold to the dew ; 
And that heart is all mine, with its love and perfume, 
Till the winds cease to blow, and the lilies to bloom. 



love's symbols. 181 

II. 

When the stars, rising bright 

In the azure of night, 
Smile sweet on my soul from their blue homes above, 

I read, in their sheen, 

Of a beautiful queen, 
Whose heart is a kingdom of ravishing love ; 
And that kingdom and queen, and that heart ever true 
As the glow of the stars in the fathomless blue, 
In the bloom of their beauty for ever are mine, 
Till the sky fades away, and the stars cease to shine. 

in. 

When the sun, riding high 

In the luminous sky, 
Is pledging the earth with his amorous fire, 

And the flowers and the trees, 

As they bend to the breeze, 
Drink life, light, and beauty with ardent desire, 



182 love's symbols. 

They tell of a heart that is true to its own, 

As the earth to the sun since the sun ever shone ; 

And that heart, with its life, light, and beauty, is mine, 

Till the earth lose her bloom, and the sun fails to shine. 





EMBLEMS OF LIBERTY. 



i. 

\ LL hail to the nation whose freemen and foemen 

Are bound by the deeds that our fathers have done ! 
Where the voice of the lord is the voice of the yeomen, 

Whose million of bosoms are beating as one ! 
And blest be those heroes whom fondly we cherish, 

Whose blood set the seal on the hearts of the free ! 
And this seal of our liberty never can perish 
While the monarch that rules is the vox popull. 



ii. 



Wave, flag of our freedom ! thy bright stars shall glimmer, 
A type of the time of our liberty's might ; 



S4 EMBLEMS OF LIBERTY. 

And the sheen of their glory shall never grow dimmer 
While their prototypes smile in the azure of night. 

And the stripes? Ah ! each ominous stripe is a token 
Of terror to all who may dare to invade ; 

For this union of bosoms can never be broken, 
These emblems of liberty never will fade. 

in. 

And beauty is bright in this land of our glory, 

Where honored and blest are the idols of love, 
As placid and pure as the blush of Aurora, 

And chaste as the cherubs that hover above. 
Oh ! each sentry-arm is a guard to its treasure ; 

Each heart is a home that is true to its own. 
Love, union, and liberty ! Time cannot measure 

This trine of our nation of many in one. 

IV. 

And here are the hills that from ocean to ocean 
Reach up to the sky, and partake of its sheen ; 



EMBLEMS OF LIBERTY. 1 85 

While the rivers and brooks hum the country's devotion, 
Through the grain-gleaming valleys that slumber between ; 

And these mountains and valleys and rivers we cherish, 
As emblems of union that never shall wane ; 

And as soon will these types of our liberty perish, 
As this land of our glory be severed in twain. 




12 




THE TEMPLE OF BEAUTY. 



T HAVE found out the Temple of Beauty ; 
I have seen where fair Innocence dwells, 
Where Virtue holds sentinel duty 

O'er the passions that Love never quells ; 
And nought can compare with that palace, 

Where modest-eyed Innocence dwells. 



ii. 



I found out this truth by a token, — 
A token that beamed from thine eye, 



THE TEMPLE OF BEAUTY. 1 87 

When the throb of thy bosom had woken 
The love that came forth on a sigh ; 

And no language was ever yet spoken 
That with that soft language can vie. 

hi. 
Idylia's that Temple of Beauty ; 

Its vestal, her virtue divine ; 
And I'll sacrifice love, as a duty, 

At the shrine of this loved one of mine ; 
It is more than the pleasure of duty 

To bow to so holy a shrine. 

IV. 

She is fair as the flowers that blossom 
In the reign of the rosy May-queen ; 

That bloom on the beautiful bosom 
Of the May, in her mantle of green ; 

That embroider, with harmonied garlands, 
Her vesture of velveted green. 



1 88 THE TEMPLE OF BEAUTY. 

V. 

Like the language these flowers have spoken 
Is the voice of her being to me, 

And remembrance remains as a token 
Of bliss that for ever shall be ; 

And the love-tie shall never be broken 
That binds my beloved to me. 




LINDEN BOWERS. 



i. 

'npHERE is a gently flowing stream 

Among the linden bowers : 
Its depths are full of floating green, 

Its banks are fringed with flowers ; 
And by this stream there is a way, — 

A pleasant path along, — 
And every day comes Emma May 

To cheer it with her song. 
I love this little maiden too, 

As she trips through the grove ; 
But then I could not tell her so, 

Though it should win her love. 



190 LINDEN BOWERS. 

II. 

Her heart is true, her eyes are blue 

As is the azure sky ; 
Her lips are like the rose's hue ; 

And then I heard her sigh, 
And sing a gentle love-refrain, 

The airy little elf, 
I know she loves me back again, 

And keeps it to herself. 
I gaze on her with fond delight, 

She looks so shy at me : 
Oh ! isn't this the saddest plight 

In which two hearts could be? 

in. 

The humbird does not fear to tell 
How much he loves the flowers ; 

The soft winds kiss the lily-bell, 
Through all the summer hours ; 



LINDEN BOWERS. 191 

And then how well the cooing dove 

Can win his loving mate ! 
While we must shun each other's love 

Till it will be too late. 
But she and I will sigh and sigh, 

And make this world so bleak, 
I wish that either she or I 

Was bold enough to speak. 




->> 




THE PICTURE THAT HANGS ON 
THE WALL. 



/^\UR Lily was fair as a fairy, 

As modest and meek as a dove, 
As placid and pure as a peri, 

But her heart it was fuller of love. 
Ah ! merry was she as a swallow, 

And her smile it was sweeter than all 
The smiles that the painter Apollo 

Ever pencilled to hang on the wall. 



THE PICTURE THAT HANGS ON THE WALL. 1 93 

II. 

Then we trimmed up her bonny brown tresses, 

While her dimples sunk down in a smile ; 
Dressed her up in the best of her dresses, 

And laughed at her glee all the while. 
And we called her our sweet little swallow, 

The bonniest beauty of all, 
And we smiled as the painter Apollo 

Traced her picture to hang on the wall. 

hi. 

But Lily grew pale, just to teach us 

That heaven had a claim on its own ; 
And we feared that the duplicate features 

Of Lily would soon be alone. 
Then her eye it grew fainter and fainter ; 

And her voice lost the trill in its call ; 
So we blessed, then, Apollo the painter, 

For the picture that hangs on the wall. 



194 THE PICTURE THAT HANGS ON THE WALL. 

IV. 

Now Lily lies under the roses, 

That wearily wave at her head ; 
But she heeds not that where she reposes 

Is chilly, for Lily is dead : 
And this picture, that never may perish, 

Is all that is left of her, — all ; 
And, oh, how the image we cherish 

Of Lily, that hangs on the wall ! 





THE JUNE AND THE MOON. 



>*"T*V1 



I. 

WAS a summer-night moon. 
And the month was June, 
The daisies were hiding their heads in the grass, 
When I plighted my love, 
In the moon-lighted grove, 
To Mary, the rosy-cheeked lass. 
As the day she was bright, 
And as fair as the night 
Over-sprinkled with stars ; but the charm 
Of the hour to me 
Was the bonny blue e'e 
Of the maiden that hung on my arm. 



I96 THE JUNE AND THE MOON. 

II. 

I spoke of the boon 

That some moon-lighted June 
Should grant me, and prayed that the time might be nigh. 

She smiled, and said, 

As she turned her head 
And roguishly gazed in my eye, — 

" The June is here, 

And the moon shines clear " — 
I kissed off the sentence with glee. 

Since then many Junes, 

And many fair moons, 
Have smiled on my Mary and me. 





TEMPUS FUGIT. 



npEMPUS FUGIT ! Let it fly : 
What's the use of whining? 
Better far to laugh than cry, 

Or always be repining. 
Why regret the passing year ? 

The world is what we make it, 
And Time will always bring us cheer, 

If we've the heart to take it. 



I9S TEMPUS FUGIT. 

II. 

Temfiusfugitl More's the need 

That we watch the treasure ; 
Every moment brings its meed 

Of profit and of pleasure. 
Let us bear with toil and care ? 

The world is full of beauty, — 
Peace and plenty everywhere, — 

If we do our duty. 

in. 
Temfius fugit ! Day by day, 

Never once receding, 
Let us follow in the way, 

This great lesson heeding, — 
Never weary : time goes on, 

In sunshine and in shadow ; 
Onward you, till you have won 

The wished-for El Dorado. 



TEMPUS FUGIT. 



I 99 



IV. 

Te?npus fugit I No delay 

For your sighs and shillings ; 
If you linger by the way, 

You will miss the innings. 
Then be noble, just, and true : 

You will never rue it ; 
The world will be the better, too, 

That you have once passed through it. 




